


The Resurrected Ghost

by muse51



Series: Never Forgotten [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-05-31 23:32:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 42,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15130133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muse51/pseuds/muse51
Summary: A prophecy and a desperate plan created by the Founders form parts of a puzzle facing Minerva McGonagall and her intrepid assistant Madam Pince. With clues paving the way, they race against time itself. Will the Wielders of Light overcome the Destroyers of Destiny?





	1. Resurrection

**Author's Note:**

> This story is posted on FFN under my author name of Rogueinker. As of 6/28, all chapters have been edited and new chapters are being posted.

Mold and mildew thrived in the cracks and corners. Moisture clung tenaciously to the unyielding dungeon walls. Iron chains, long forgotten, hung limply from the ceiling. The floor, gritty with sand and dirt, lay unmarked by any living object. The room wore its mantle of neglect with stoic casualness; its deserved solitude disturbed only by the unexpected draft whispering through the corridors finding its random way to this most cursed room at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Few knew of this room's true story and fewer still its location. No living entity sought it out, not even for the wealth of knowledge stored in the room's lone interloper - a desk of finely hewed ancient mahogany and oak. It had an indefinable quality that bespoke of secrets best kept to itself. Though the room had sat unattended to by mortal or house elf, dust had yet to settle on the desk's still gleaming surface. Neither were the brass fittings tarnished by age nor loosened by use. The desk defied conventional thought keeping to its pristine condition as if it had only been stored the day before instead of more than four hundred years ago.

The owner of the desk knew of its existence and its place but did nothing to assure its continued survival. Some things were better left forgotten, or at least, ignored to the best of one's ability. The latter approach was preferred by its owner. Through studied ignorance, decade after decade, its owner convinced itself of its nonexistence, conveniently consigning all taint of mortal ignominies to the unforgiving past.

As any sinner can attest to, past sins have a way of resurrecting themselves and no amount of penance can dim the original sin's promise of retribution. The owner of the desk had thought his penance paid by time and earthly torment. One fateful day he came to realize that his penance had only just begun.

Jagged, unkempt nails dug into flesh turned ice cold. The self-inflicted pain was a cruel harbinger of reality. Callus-roughened fingertips grasped the edges of the desk seeking more proof of the impossible even as eyes blinked uncertainly long unused to the natural action. Nostrils flared then pinched at the first whiff of air. Skin prickled as blood rushed anew to legs, toes, arms and fingertips.

Dark hair hung limply over a long pallid face that still bore traces of a noble lineage desecrated by avarice and ambition. A pink tongue tentatively explored gums, teeth and lips while saliva dripped unchecked down one cheek. Lying prone on top of his ancient desk, Antoine de Neuvilette stared at the ceiling and screamed once. Then again and again.

 

* * *

 In another part of the enormous castle, a house elf heard the screams and went to investigate. It was a blathering house elf that brought the news to the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress of a crazed man locked inside the hidden room crying in anguish, pulling at the chains and pounding on the desk.

Behind his desk, the Headmaster frowned. "Did he say who he was?"

"More importantly, how did he find himself down there?" interjected the Deputy Headmistress. "Do we have a breach in security?"

The elf drew a deep breath to calm himself before answering. "He ... he said ... there he awoke and there he stays. He must, he says."

"I understand and he is quite correct," Dumbledore rose and headed rapidly towards the dungeons trailed by Professor McGonagall and the elf.

"Kindly slow down and explain yourself, Albus," McGonagall said.

"We have little time to lose, my dear Professor." Dumbledore paused at the bottom of the staircase and looked at his deputy. His expression was devoid of any of his usual cheery amusement. "There is only one thing ... one man that can access that room other than myself. Since he is there now, I can only deduce one thing. The Bloody Baron is a ghost no more."

Minerva gasped. "Impossible! That kind of magic reeks of ... of ... necromancy, the darkest of our arts."

"Traditional wisdom would agree with you but there is another discipline which is much older, much more powerful." Dumbledore opened the large doors leading to the dungeons.

"Blacker than necromancy?" Minerva asked following Albus down into the dungeon corridors.

"Who is to say, truly, what is black and what is white? Can there not be a gray area where the best of intentions, when mingled with jaded appetites and overarching ambition, often result in the most horrific of consequences."

"Albus, your tone and subject matter worry me."

"I have lived a long time, Minerva. I have learned not to judge anyone too harshly lest I be the one judged."

 

* * *

They reached an area of the dungeons warded from student and faculty access. Albus changed the wards to accept Minerva. Together, wands ablaze, they stepped down a short series of steps to the lowest levels of the castle.

"What does this gray art have to do with the Baron?"

"The practice of the art cost him his mortal life."

"Indeed? I had always thought he was consigned to his ghostly existence because of an unforgivable crime."

"If it is a crime of unspeakable magnitude to dabble with the natural order of things, then, yes, the Baron Antoine de Neuvilette did commit such a crime." Albus stopped his explanation. They could hear the Baron's wails echoing in the corridor.

"In Merlin's name, what did he do?"

"It is best that you hear it from him, Minerva." Albus' eyes were sad. "All I will say is that he did what he did for the best of reasons. I cannot find it in me to condemn him outright."

"What reason is worth his life, his very soul?"

"Can you not think of one?" They had reached the door to the small room. Emanating from inside were the sounds of fists hitting wood repeatedly. "What would drive you to commit a heinous crime?"

Minerva was thoughtful for a moment absorbing all that Albus had said. "Love. Only love."

"Yes." Albus glanced at Minerva beside him. "The baron paid the price with few regrets but it seems that there is more yet to mete out."

Dumbledore said the incantation to unlock the door. As the door opened, the wailing and violence stopped. Baron Antoine de Neuvilette, now a whole man of flesh and blood, stared at the headmaster and his deputy.

Suddenly, the baron fell to his knees nearly at their feet. His voice was hoarse as he pleaded, "Headmaster, Professor, you m-m-must help me ... help me to die once and for all."


	2. The Second Son

Professor McGonagall's alarm at such a request was plain. The headmaster bowed and raised the fallen man to his feet. In a voice warm with empathy, he coaxed the Baron to calmness. "Come, Antoine, to my office, you need food and drink before we talk."

The baron took a step back. "I stay here. Fate has played its last game with me. I am mortal again and therefore I have the means to make my final choice. If you refuse to aid me, then I shall find another." The baron looked closely at Minerva. "Professor McGonagall, were you in my position, deprived of your love, would you wish to continue an empty existence? Would you let yourself be torn from your heart's desire a moment longer?"

Minerva swallowed hard but nothing else disturbed the neutral facade she presented. The Baron had been a ghost at Hogwarts for nearly its entire history. Though ghosts were privy to many things and events within the castle, their discretion was a credit to them. Minerva knew exactly what the former ghost was alluding to. She was not amused. "Were I even so inclined as you postulate, I need remind you that we are not talking about me."

"I cannot lay hand upon myself such is the aegis that hangs over me," pointed out the Baron. "Am I expected to now live out the mortal life taken from me? I am out of place in time, culture and age. I refuse this dubious gift."

"You will waste your second chance, Baron, if you -"

"Waste! Not I, madam, nay, not I. I have willingly served here for countless, endless years." The baron stretched his arms wide before fixing a hard look at the deputy headmistress. "Unlike you, madam, I acknowledge my selfish self interest to its fullest. Not I for the conscious deliberateness of self sacrifice. There must come a time when one does what one does entirely for one's own benefit and desire."

"And how many were harmed by your actions, baron, because of your one moment of self indulgence," Minerva crossed her arms. "Sacrifice is a difficult thing, often without fulfillment but I would rather have that than hurt the ones I love."

The baron was inwardly shamed by her honesty and vigorous defense of her position. Professor McGonagall was a rare woman, indeed. Unlike her, he had not been able to accept sacrifice for its own sake. He had never been that brave or that strong.

"Antoine, please stop badgering my deputy," Albus advised trying to defuse the tension with humor. "Minerva can out debate any one, especially when her temper is up."

"Albus, you exaggerate." Minerva surveyed the shattered man in front of them. A wellspring of compassion grew in her heart for this lost, unfortunate being. If circumstances were different, would she be like him, living on memories and distorted dreams?

"Come to my office. We have much to discuss."

"I cannot leave here, headmaster," said the baron.

"I thought that too but I see no spells about you that would tie you to this place," Dumbledore reasoned. "Only the desk is absolutely bound to this ... this cell."

The baron remained silent.

It was Minerva who made the decision for both men. "Baron, if you are to stride the halls once more, you cannot do so like that. The children would be more frightened than ever before."

The baron stood mute as his dress and appearance was transformed. With a quick spell and a wave of Minerva's wand, the baron's threadbare clothes became new and clean, absent of the blood stains that had been his trademark for centuries. His long hair was magically combed back and tied with a ribbon. His face though still gaunt and spare was made clean shaven. Antoine looked down at himself. His hand pressed down on his surcoat over his heart where the bloodstains used to be. His hand rubbed absently over his chest.

Albus motioned for all of them to depart. He ordered the house elf to bring sandwiches and tea to his office. Before he closed and warded the door, Dumbledore took one last searching glance inside. His eyes alighted last on the desk, a testament to love and madness.

The door was closed taking with it the light of the living. Inside, the desk gleamed darkly waiting patiently to be used once more.

 

* * *

Once in the headmaster's office, the Baron de Neuvilette shocked the assembled portraits of headmasters and headmistresses. He bowed low in greeting to them all amidst a cacophony of voices shouting out their dismay and anger.

"Everyone, please, all will be explained in due time. Quiet, now," urged Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall and Baron de Neuvilette took seats by the fireplace. "As you can all see, the Bloody Baron is very much alive."

"Heresy! Blasphemy!" shouted an ancient crone high on the north wall. "He defiles us with his presence. Send him away, Dumbledore!"

"No, Lucretia, I will not. The baron has served his time, if you will. He is no longer the man he once was."

"Decades on the astral plane does not expiate his sins," said a bearded man clutching a worn staff by his side.

"No, Declan, but it also does not mean that he is to be thrown out of the only home he has known.” Albus raised his hands. "Please, please, let the reasons for his actions be our chief concern not the results of them."

The portraits' yells and murmurs subsided. By the fireside, the baron stared fixedly into the flames. He could not blame them for their reaction. In their place, he would likely have been equally outraged. He took the cup of tea proffered by Professor McGonagall.

"The question remains. How did he ... he come back to life?" Headmaster Armando Dippet asked from the west wall. "I thought ghost sentences were for life ... for eternity."

"They are intended to be so," answered Declan. "In my time, it was not unusual to have conditions placed on the sentence. Perhaps such is the case herein."

"It matters not!" shrieked Lucretia. "The longer he stays here the more troublesome that cursed desk will be."

"It has been isolated in the farthest, deepest part of the castle for many decades now, Lucretia. Away from susceptible minds, it can do no mischief," said Dumbledore. He took his own chair by the fire. Instead of tea, a steaming mug of hot cocoa awaited him. "Now, Baron, let us hear your tale. And that, perhaps, will give us a clue to your unexpected resurrection."

The baron kept his eyes on the fire as he began. "I was born in Burgundy, the second son of a second son. It was that brief time when Muggle and Wizard kind co-existed. My choices of vocation were few. Neither the military nor the monastery held any appeal for me. I had a scholar's aptitude but the passions of an affirmed libertine. For a time, I worked with my family creating furniture for well paying aristocrats, wizarding and not. The work was profitable but I longed for a challenge."

"By chance, an English merchant commissioned me to build some pieces for his wife. Together, we made an investment in some textiles bought in Lorraine and destined for London. At the age of twenty and nine, I decided that it was time to see what I could make of myself in the world. I accompanied my partner to England. It was to be my first sea voyage."

"The crossing did not agree with my spirit, rooted as it was in the soil of mother France. My partner brought me to a healer favored by the wizarding families of England. There I convalesced from mal de mer and the horrid dampness that is England. For all I despise England, I love it too. For it was during my recovery in London that I met Isabel, my Isabel."


	3. Dark Design

The baron took a deep breath before continuing. "Isabel Parnam was her name. I met her at a gathering hosted by my partner. She had a particular affinity for charms, I remember." The baron undid his high collar. He removed a long chain from around his neck upon which a ring dangled. He caressed the ring as he continued. "I cannot say that it was as love described in poems and sonnets for there was nothing remarkable about her - brown hair, eyes of blue and a pleasant face. I had seen far more beautiful women in Paris. But each time she laughed, my eyes were drawn to her and my heart felt more carefree than it had ever felt. Do you understand? How incredible it felt, feels.”

Dumbledore nodded. He looked in his deputy's direction briefly before turning his attention back to the baron. Professor McGonagall sniffed discreetly as did many of the female portraits in the room.

"I danced with her that night. She was unpracticed but learned quickly; her natural grace serving her well. I cannot explain why I was so drawn to her. I only know that I was." The baron stopped once more lost in memories. When he continued his voice was soft, almost a whisper. "Our first weeks of acquaintance drove me to seek success where I could find it. I strived to be worthy of her as a man should be before asking for a lady's hand. I found a merchant who consented to purchasing any excess pieces my family may have. Such a transaction would be beneficial to my family and I would earn a sizable commission. I left for France immediately."

The baron buried his head in his hands. "When I returned a month later, my Isabel was no longer mine. She had married the son of a merchant with whom her father did business; an alliance more than a marriage." The baron looked at Professor McGonagall. "Isabel did not know of my feelings. I never intimated my intentions to court her. Perhaps, if I had gone to her father first ... but too long I waited, far too long."

"The wiser course would have been to leave England and Isabel. Many times I made plans to leave. Each time I would find a reason to stay. If only to see Isabel at the market or at another gathering or even in passing on the streets. My resolve to leave her at peace dissolved when I learned that she was unhappy in her marriage."

The baron rose and circled his chair pausing to stand behind it. "I saw my chance to win her for myself. In the end, I killed her."

"What!" Minerva exclaimed. She looked from the baron to Albus and back to the baron again. "You said you loved her."

"I did. I do." The baron looked at the ring again. "I sought her out in secret. To my delight, she returned my feelings. Hope swelled my heart at hearing her words of love for me. We met when and where we could - rendezvous under the moonlight, not so incidental meetings at the homes of mutual friends. Months of bliss and despair passed. Isabel and I agreed to end our hopeless affair. The risk of scandal was too great. I could see the toll our affair brought upon her. I would not hurt her for anything. We parted. I poured my energies into my investments and even attended a few women. In time, I opened a furniture concern and had several craftsmen in my employ."

"But the more successful I became, the more I craved what could not be mine. One day, I saw her heavy with child, of her husband's seed, visiting friends in town. She saw not my observance. I watched from afar for a few minutes, an hour, I know not. A melancholy swept over me. For days thereafter I could not stir myself from thoughts of her or of what, by right I felt, we should have had."

The baron looked around the office. His voice rose to be heard by all. "Do you know what desperation feels like? Do any of you know the helplessness one feels when reaching for that perfect thing that is always beyond your reach? Every grasping attempt hardens your resolve and your heart. Hopelessness turns to need. Then quiet on cat's feet, inevitable as the rising of the sun, need becomes obsession. Rational thought is turned irrational. My actions hereafter were wrong by all standard measures we believe in, but still, I cannot repent for the reasons behind them were mine own. By my measure I ... I was only seeing to my happiness. Do we not all seek happiness for our present and our future?"

The baron returned to his chair and slumped down into it. The crackling fire captured his attention once more. "The true scholar in me was given free rein over every book, every tome, every treatise I could find for something to use. Poisons, hexes, curses, charms, yes, I considered them all. Strangely, it was my family that led me to my solution. My father owned a desk. It was, he said, the first piece he had ever made and it had marked the beginning of his prosperity. He always referred to it as his beginning and his end. Only later did I discern his true meaning."

"When we were little, my father would hide treats inside the desk's many drawers. With him always present, my brothers and I would be instructed to think of the treats as our hearts desire. Then, with our thoughts firmly set, we would be sent scurrying to the desk one by one hunting for that which was hidden within. I never found it strange that I always found my favorite sweets, each time without fail. I had no cause to be curious as my father was a powerful wizard in his own right and a clever inventor. Many of our own furniture had magical abilities granted to it by his very hands. I thought nothing of the desk's abilities."

"Upon my father's death, the desk was to go to my brother, the eldest brother, but his wife refused to have it. I never learned the reason for her refusal, perhaps, she sensed its power and was properly frightened by it. The legacy then devolved to me. I personally escorted the desk to England where I had by then decided to make my home." The baron laughed ruefully. "Do you know, I ... I even moved into a bigger home so I could have a study to put it in, such was my regard for it then. It became my workplace. I rarely went to the store. I found that my best designs and plans were done on my father's desk. My business thrived and I was forced to hire more workers to accommodate demand."

"It was also at this time that I began to draw landscapes and portraits. Many of them were of Isabel or Isabel and I with our imagined family. It was, I told myself, a harmless outlet to ease my obsession. In dreams and fancies, I could live with her, be with her as I wished. It harmed no one and so I continued. On cold winter nights, I would spend endless hours upon my desk, sketching and wishing for my heart's desire. I ought to have consigned the sketches to the fire but, fool that I was, I lovingly kept them all within the large bottom drawer of the desk."

"It was the last dying days of winter that an idea came to me. In a feverish fit of activity, for three whole days, I secreted myself from prying eyes. I sat upon my desk by sun and candle light drawing plans that I know now could not have come from my own knowledge. As the plans took shape, my excitement grew ever higher. The taste of anticipation and victory was hot upon my tongue. On the fourth day, plans under my arm, I elicited the aid of my most talented craftsman. It was half a month before he completed my design. For his trouble, I gave him a half year's pay and altered his memories."

"Proudly, upon my desk, I put the new device - the size and shape of a lantern, all hard metals, rudimentary dials and small turning blades. To this day, I cannot remember much detail of those first heady days of experimentation. But the heightened feelings of elation and passion from that time will never leave me. On the seventh day, I steadied my purpose and began to prepare for a future with my Isabel. I bought gold to finance our new life and to buy land upon which we could build our home together. On the eighth day, I used the device with the intent to secure my heart's desire for all time."

The baron stopped completely. Small tears coursed down his cheeks. Dumbledore allowed for a few minutes for the broken man to face his inner demons. After the baron had composed himself, Dumbledore asked in a voice, sad and soft, "What was the device, Antoine?"

"The device of my dreams and nightmares," the baron answered. "You have a better name for it now - a time turner."


	4. Turning Time

Dumbledore caught Minerva's eye and communicated in that way unique to them his desire for her to abstain from asking any further questions. They were coming to the heart of the story and the listeners had to be patient. Dumbledore knew that the rest of the tale would press hard upon the former ghost. Time does not diminish the pains of memory and regret. It can only add perspective and distance.

The baron sipped his tea and continued. "You are perhaps curious as to how I could have made such a thing. Yes, I drew the plans, had the device built, placed charms and incantations upon it fulfilling its magical essence and employed it for my own purposes. For those acts I take full responsibility. But I have never claimed theoretical brilliance or even divine insight in its creation. The plans and spells arose from the parchment as rapidly as my quill could write or draw. The very speed was unnatural."

"Are you now saying that you were forced to your actions?" Lucretia asked with a distinct tone of disdain. "I find that unacceptable!"

"No, no! I accept full blame for what transpired. I did so then and I do so now." The baron replied in a strong voice. "But the ... the inspiration for the device did not spring from my mind. It was the desk fulfilling my heart's desire as it did my father's desire for fortune for his family. The desk serves its own ends and cares not for mortal consequences. I believe my father went to his death unprepared. He was a man of conscience and discipline. He would not have been so careless as to leave no warning about the desk's power. Upon my life, from thereon it came to my possession, shone an ill-favored star."

"I used the device to go back in time to the point before I left for France. I spoke with Isabel's father and he agreed to our marriage upon my return. I embarked on my voyage with a joyous heart. I made plans to employ my profits for a new home for us." The baron rubbed at his chest. "On the night of my return, there was an altercation at the harbor; thieves come to rob my ship of its cargo. My crew and I fought them off. I was wounded in the chest. I thought it a paltry wound for it bled little from my expectations of such things. At dawn, with only mild discomfort, we sailed back to England. Every day of the journey, cold seeped into my joints and my wound bled more and more, a drop, a trickle, a torrent. We made landfall with me bedridden in and out of consciousness. In my London home, healers eased my pain but the wound had done its damage. With Isabel at my bedside, I vowed I would return and that she was to wait for me. In the last moments of that life, I used the device to return me to the present."

"And what did you find in the present?" Dumbledore gently prodded.

"I took little notice at first but my home seemed shabbier. As I walked the streets to the blacksmith, people shunned me where before there had been greetings from neighbors and acquaintances alike. I was blind to these changes intent as I was to commission the blacksmith to fashion for me a ... a breastplate that I could wear under my clothes. With this I thought to avert the wound that I was fated to receive." The baron shook his head vigorously. "Such is hubris born when man thinks to deceive the Fates. Who does one deceive more than himself?"

"I gave the smith too much gold but I cared not. I only wanted to return and feel Isabel's arms around me. Two days I slept and rested in my home before the plate was ready. I used the device again. I thought to save time," the baron cackled at this. "to return the night of the thievery and that is what I did. The plate did its work and I emerged unscathed. Elated, we sailed at dawn as before. Our second day was marred by a fierce storm. Contrary to the captain's advice, I ordered the crew to forge on. Wave after terrifying wave beset our craft from port to stern. Buffeted by the winds and taking on too much water, our ship ran aground on the Dover coast. Our cargo was lost. With only a small quantity of gold in my possession I reached London, weeks late. All my hardships faded to nothing as I saw my Isabel waiting for me. She convinced her father to continue with the betrothal as planned. And I, for my part, swore that my misfortune was a thing of the past. I would support Isabel as I had promised. I had little gold left but I had my health. I would see to her happiness no matter what work I had to do."

The baron's eyes took on a faraway look. "That moment when a man takes a woman to wife must be heaven on earth. It was for me so when Isabel and I married. The strength of my love paled against the steadiness and faith I saw within her eyes as we shared our vows with each other and all who stood with us that day. She was mine. I was hers and still am."

The baron wiped a single tear away. "But heaven is not for mortals. That is why we aspire to it. I learned my father-in-law's business but the work did not inspire me. I could not say the same for my life with Isabel. Having her in my life, in my arms every night, made the drudgery of day seem worthwhile. We were content until a plague lay a shroud of fear and despair over our town. My aged father-in-law succumbed easily enough. I must confess that his passing relieved me of the tension that ran high between us in the running of the business. I mourned his death but not overmuch. In the early days of the plague I worked many hours remaking the business to what I thought appropriate, in my own way, in my own vision. Assured of no fatherly interference, I was certain I could make a success of the business. My ambition blinded me to the insidious intruder come settling within the heart of my home. Isabel contracted the plague."

The baron covered his face with his hands. "I hired the best healers. I bought the best potions and curatives. Nothing was more important to me than her. I let the business to ruin as I drained it of funds to pay for more healers, the newest palliatives, delicacies to tempt her dry palate. It was all for naught. For the fates, no matter my efforts, had decreed what was to be. Nearly a year after our marriage, Isabel died in my arms. Her body shriveled and marked by the plague."

The baron pounded a fist into his chair. "I should have killed myself that night but I did not. Arrogance, that monstrous beast, played tinder to the fires of my defiance. As I kissed my wife's lifeless hand and felt her belly where our unborn lay, no longer nurtured, no longer basking in the love of its parents, I whispered that I would banish our misery, the winds of plague be damned. With fire consuming my heart, I returned to the present for the second time."

The baron grew silent. His audience spellbound by the tale was equally silent.

It was Dumbledore who broke the silence. "Then what transpired, baron?"

"Please, do not ... do not ask me." The baron shifted back and forth with his eyes shut tight. "I cannot live through it again."

The headmaster was stern. ”You have done so before and you must again. Continue."


	5. The Price of Arrogance

Though Minerva heard the tone of unyielding command in Albus' voice, she could not help but feel pity for the man sitting opposite her. The baron had suffered much and it seemed that there was more to come. Hands clasped tightly on his lap, the Bloody Baron, Antoine de Neuvilette, prepared himself to face his private infamy one more time.

"I came back to a world that I could scarce recognize as my own. My home was unkempt, the fireplace filled with ash and soot. My furnishings so well made were now decrepit, even unsafe. Save for my desk. How unnatural it was, an oasis of elegance in a desert of ruin. That incongruity should have been my first caution to heed reality but my blindness was ever more set in my mind and my heart. A new plan formed. I would go back and take Isabel away, away from the plague and her family business. We would start anew elsewhere. What need did we have for others? I needed no one but her."

"I went to my store with the intention of securing more funds. To my disappointment, I did not find prosperity. In its stead were a handful of workmen laying about the shop and gambling with dice. I asked why they were not working, one worker, the one who made my device, informed me that there was no wood and no sundry materials and so the lathes and benches sat empty and unused. I looked about my once fine shop before dismissing the workers forever. I was further convinced that my future lay in the past. I had to return there."

Fingering the ring in one hand, the baron continued. "I sold my shop for half its true worth and nearly gave away what furniture was for sale. I then sold my home and all its contents, the desk included. With a small bag of gold, gemstones and medicinal potions, I traveled back to the day before the plague made its presence known. I let events unfold as before while forcing Isabel to take the potions I brought back with me. Upon my father-in-law's death, I sold the business, despite Isabel's vehement objections. Her tears and wails stabbed at my heart but my conviction was strong. We had to leave and settle elsewhere."

"Leaving her widowed mother behind, we settled in the country, Shropshire. It was far from the stench of the town and the threat of sickness . I set my mind to the farming life. With my bare hands, I built a small cottage with two rooms and a thatched roof. Isabel never took sick and our babe swelled inside her. I felt then that I had escaped the clutches of fate leaving my destiny firmly in my hands. I discounted the seeds of mistrust sown within Isabel's breast by her disagreement with my decision to sell the business and leave town. The business was rightly her dowry and in her eyes I had squandered it needlessly. We quarreled more and more."

"Dumbledore, please tell the rest," the baron pleaded.

"No, Antoine, it is not my story to tell. You must continue." Albus responded.

The baron bowed his head. He breathed deeply several times before continuing.

"I tended to the farm and Isabel to the cottage. The intimacy of our marriage disintegrated in the face of our growing animosity. We came together on the birthing of our child. I held her in my arms despite the midwife's ridicule of my presence by my wife's side. I succored to her when her pain was greatest. I wiped her brow and held her hand through many exhausting hours of labor. She accepted freely the tender kisses I offered to her."

The baron inhaled deeply. His eyes took on a haunted cast as he looked at the headmaster and then the deputy. "The intimacy and awareness between a pair is a wonder to behold. Truly, I felt we could surmount anything and anyone. Our quarrels faded away. I could feel the delicate tendrils of trust forming between us once again."

The baron looked down on his hands. "My happiness was short-lived. If the birthing rekindled our love then the stillborn state of our child, my son, sealed the destruction of our marriage."

Professor McGonagall wiped a tear from her eye unashamed of the emotions she was experiencing. Albus took her hand in his. He stroked and squeezed her hand while she silently wept.

"I buried our son. Philip Samuel de Neuvilette was his given name. He seemed sickly and undersized. The midwife had said his chances of survival were small. I returned to the fields and Isabel. Isabel was never the same again. She would rage in the mornings and cry a sea of tears in the evening. I hired a maid to see to her needs. I left for the fields before the sun rose and returned after Isabel had cried herself to an unrestful sleep. I stopped seeking the warmth of her body against mine or craving her touch on my skin. For her part, it was as if I no longer existed. One morning I awoke and Isabel was gone. I looked everywhere but I never found her. Alone, in my cottage, I mourned my wife, my son and my life. A month later Isabel's corpse was found in the river far downstream."

The baron bowed his head. His voice was hoarse with emotion. "I have had enemies but to none of them would I wish my travails. That year as winter held its grip fast on the land, I ... I sought solace in madness. My memories of that time are vague, as if seen through a pane of colored glass. I returned to the present. What I hope to accomplish to this day I am unsure. I went back into time twice more. Each time was worse than the one before. No matter my actions, death, always death, were their result."

The baron succumbed to his grief. Oblivious to his surroundings, his body shuddering, the baron wept. Unable to resist any longer, Minerva wrapped her arms about him and shared his pain.

"I did not know the full story," Lucretia said regretfully. "He has suffered much."

Minerva stroked the baron's back. She grieved for his lost family for she well understood his motivations and pain. "We should stop now, Albus. The rest can wait after he's rested."

Uncharacteristically, Albus' next words were harsh and demanding. "No, he must continue. He will finish tonight, now." Albus rose and physically drew Minerva back to her chair.

Minerva protested. "Albus, what has - "

"You will understand in time. I must do this, Minerva." Dumbledore knelt by the baron. With terse words and no shred of pity, he bullied the man to coherence.

"You are correct, headmaster, I started this and I must finish." The baron straightened in his chair. Dumbledore handed him a towel with which he wiped his face. "On my last return to the present, I found strangers awaiting my return, one woman and two men. It was Rowena, Godric and Salazar. They had come to stop my forays into the past. My journeys were, in Rowena's words, disassembling the fabric of time and events, past and future. To protect the future, I had to be stopped. I remember being blinded by a bright light while explaining ... pleading my need to return. When I awoke, I was here, Hogwarts, in Godric's study. I was tied and magically bound to my chair. For some days they explained their reasoning yet I turned deaf ears to them. Seven days I lasted, until their words penetrated the madness clouding my mind."

The baron's gaze was caught in the flames of the hearth. "I was never fated to marry Isabel, Rowena explained. I was never fated to have children. Isabel's line was meant to produce a significant figure of history one day but that could not happen due to my machinations. Isabel Parnam had to live to a ripe old age. That is what fate had written for her. Godric and Salazar had visited the past to make amends but their efforts were fruitless. Isabel died before her time. My machinations had permanently affected the careful balance of time and events, fate and destiny. There was naught any could do to undo the effects save for one thing - Antoine de Neuvilette had to cease existing."

"In my more lucid moments, I sensed in my heart that all Rowena revealed to me was the truth. She was a true and powerful seer. Her dreams had revealed my part in the discontinuity of time. Somehow, I know not how, they found me. I was haunted by the feeling of Isabel's limp body in my arms as she died again and again. I could not give her my love but I could give her life again. I asked for death by my own hand but such was not to be."


	6. Founders Plan

The early wizards and witches knew well that some laws of nature must be respected. Tampering with these laws had dire and oftentimes irreversible consequences. One of these laws applied to Time. To those not steeped in magical lore, Time was best thought of as a wide tapestry composed of many strands that weaved and twined together. The ultimate design of the tapestry is out of mortal purview.

On the tapestry, each strand represented a probability of a future while knots on a strand were key events upon which the forward direction of the strand depended. In this way, a knot out of sequence or one woven in the wrong place could have disastrous effects. One or the other of these mistakes could be undone but, in his misguided missions into the past, the Bloody Baron had committed both mistakes.

"Rowena refused to grant me my death. She was unsure if my death would wreak havoc elsewhere. For days, the three argued about my situation. I know not what occurred between them only that Rowena and Godric were in agreement but Salazar was not. In her analysis, my imminent death would not restore the time strands to their original direction or state. Simply put, my life had become irretrievably connected to the key event of one specific, important individual, Isabel Parnam. Rowena theorized that I had to meet Isabel but I could not form an attachment with her nor she with me. I chose to give Isabel her life, little did I know how painful that gift would be."

The baron seemed calmer, almost stoic, after his earlier cathartic outburst of emotion and grief. "I returned to a more distant point in the past with Godric as my companion and, in a sense, my minder, to ensure my compliance. I met Isabel at the gathering. We danced. We laughed. We talked well into the night. I never spoke the words of my heart as my eyes beheld her at her most glorious for the last time. After the gathering, Antoine de Neuvilette did not return to France for a consignment of furniture. He never set foot on a boat. I simply disappeared from that time and was brought back to Hogwarts."

"Once here I was presented with yet another gift from the fickle hands of fate. Rowena had a vision. Through that vision, she came to understand that if I had a physical death, Isabel's line would never be. For her line to continue, I too must continue on in some form. An existential paradox was the price for my transgressions. Godric and Rowena searched everywhere for a solution. In the end, it was to me that the solution made itself clear. I demanded I be sentenced to an astral life. In that way, my energies could continue to exist long into the future assuring the survival of Isabel's line."

The baron stirred his tea before taking a long sip. "In an astral sentence, one's body was killed while the soul or life force was held in abeyance, neither living nor dying, simply existing. I died with a spear through my heart driven deep by my hand. Blood poured out of my wound as a fountain spewing out water in the local square. I felt my spirit disassociate from my body. As if from a great distance, I saw my body breathe its last, my hand lose its hold on the spear. It was then I began the first day of my existence as a ghost of Hogwarts."

The baron stood and leaned against the mantelpiece. "To allay my conscience, I told Godric and Salazar about the desk. Salazar was particularly intrigued. They brought it back to the castle. As for the time device, I do not know what happened to it. The last I saw of it was when we returned the last time." He sighed. "There, my tale is at an end, Dumbledore, what will you have of me now?"

"I want you to rest, my old friend," Dumbledore rested a hand on the baron's shoulder. "Much has been asked of you tonight. Quarters are being readied for you."

The baron was about to take his leave when Professor McGonagall, who had been lost in thought for quite some time asked a very pertinent question. "If your astral existence was tied to Isabel's line, then the fact that you are no longer a ghost means that the need for you to ... to ensure her line's continuance is gone. It begs the question - What has happened to her line?"

"A very good question, Professor McGonagall, and one I fear we cannot answer tonight." said Dumbledore.

"Another question. Does this mean that the significant event or figure that Rowena spoke of has passed?"

"That is two questions."

"And if the event or the person has not come to pass, why was the Baron allowed to regain his humanity?"

"I stand corrected. Three questions."

"Four, Albus. What does all of this mean for us, for the strands of time to which we belong?"

The headmaster shook his head. "I have no answers for you, Minerva. The only certainty I can offer is that for everything in this life, there is a reason and a time."

Minerva looked pensive. "Time, it is all about time."

Minerva went to bed that night pondering the questions she posed earlier. She could not shake the suspicion that the Baron's story had yet to come to completion or that the desk had been fully explained. She had quite the mystery to unravel and she intended to start on it first thing in the morning.


	7. Godric's Journal

The next day's Transfiguration classes found themselves doing their homework in class. While not unheard of it was rarer than hippogriffs rampaging across the lawns of the school. Professor McGonagall seemed unusually inattentive to her class. She often glanced at the blackboard behind her. The students found this strange because the blackboard was blank. A stack of parchment sat at one corner of her desk. As the day grew late, the stack increased with every class.

The headmaster entered after the last class of the day had exited. He, too, saw the now perilously high stack of notes. Minerva had her back to him staring at her empty blackboard. Not wanting to startle her needlessly, he cleared his throat loudly. "Professor McGonagall, are you free?"

Minerva looked at him with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. "I am not free as you are well aware of. This ... this mystery is driving me to distraction. I am sure my students have noticed."

Albus gestured to the stack. "Notes?"

"Yes, items that I need to research, unanswered questions and so forth."

"Minerva, you are not working on this alone."

"Of course not, but you are often gone to the Ministry. Correct me if I am not mistaken but you have no intention of letting the staff know about this event, do you?"

"As always you are correct."

Minerva crossed her arms across her chest. Her eyes dared him to contradict her deduction. "That then leaves the problem to me."

"I know that look well, my dear, I will sooner stand in your way as take up the post of Minister of Magic." Dumbledore smiled. "Now, your note this morning said to meet you here after class. What do you need from me?"

"Answers, or at least the route to those answers." Minerva brandished her wand and the blackboard's contents became visible to the headmaster. "Here are the points of connection that I know so far."

On the blackboard were listed : Antoine de Neuvilette, Isabel Parnam, Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Desk, the Neuvilette family.

Minerva continued her explanation. "All of these are connected in some way known or unknown at this time. The problem is in how to fit them together so the whole structure forms or indicates a solution. I cannot help but feel that time is of the essence, Albus."

"I agree," Dumbledore perused the list. From his countenance was gone the playful wizard. Standing in that classroom was a worried wizard with brows furrowed in concentration. He was familiar with Minerva's approach to problem solving. When first she came to the school, her methods had puzzled him but over time he came to admire her often ingenious ways. "As I see it, we have all the most pertinent information from the baron in hand so he may be, what is the saying, Minerva?"

"Checked off," she replied. Minerva placed a precise check mark beside Antoine de Neuvilette. "I need more information. We know little about Isabel herself. Rowena left some writings behind but not much. Godric, fortunately, was an avid journalist. I hope to see something in his materials. Salazar, well, I do not wish to delve into his bequests unless I absolutely have to. The Neuvilettes are nearly a blank. I asked Irma to do some research for me. I am left with Godric as my first clue."

"Shall we examine his journals after dinner?"

"That would be ideal." Minerva gathered her things and they walked out together. "How is the castle's newest guest faring?"

"Disoriented is the best description. He will not be leaving his rooms for a while. I have informed Poppy of his situation."

"Poppy?"

"The baron's wound is not entirely healed. He had pains in the night and this morning he showed me the drops of blood marking his chest."

"How unusual."

"In the extreme. There are mentions and past oral stories, more fantastic than true I thought, of resurrections caused by wrongs righted and the victims restored. That does not seem to apply in this case."

"Oral histories. Thank you. I shall add that to my research list."

Dumbledore stopped without notice. He faced his deputy, his face solemn. "Minerva, promise me you will not overwork yourself on this."

"But, the baron -"

"As much as we want to help, we cannot and should not overreach our own grasp. Like you I thought of his problem through the night. Unless I am mistaken neither one us had more than four hours of sleep." Minerva nodded. "Rowena's uncertainty concerns me. I feel that the baron's case is more far reaching into the future, our future, than it seems on the surface. We must treat what we find with the utmost care and impartiality."

"No easy fixes then."

"None."

The two ate dinner in the hall. To any casual observer, they would have seen nothing out of the ordinary. But disguised as ordinary conversation, the two professors discussed their mystery.

 

* * *

Much later, Minerva sat in her favorite chair in Albus' private study. Here was complete privacy with no prying portraits or other uninvited guests. On her lap was set one of the many journals of Godric Gryffindor. She had found what she believed was relevant to her problem.

From the journal of Godric Gryffindor, she read:

_The chill of winter has left us for another season. I can feel my fingertips again. The children will be off to their homes for a time. Peace and tranquility shall be my dearest friends. Helga and I have a task ahead of us that would tax the patience of a saint. It is fortunate that no students will be about._

_Today, the fifth of June, bore witness to a vision by Rowena. She has been pained by aches of the head. Her revelation voiced as like a spirit unfree that weaves a tale, a moral, a lesson true. Its words were of no sense. To my ears, tangled verse it was, crossed with the twisting, twining strand of truth._

_The spirit spoke of many things of the very bonds of time being sundered, a heartfelt atonement before true forgiveness was earned through deepest humility. There was mention of a savior lost in the swirling mists before the winds of random luck and self absorbed redemption put him back to course._

_My first impulse was to scoff at this but it had an air only then as will out, that and of the many dreamings since, which could only be true. Again came the strand of time. I warrant her fixation upon it be unhealthy. Time is not one to be meddled with. It will take our combined magicks to set things right._

_Salazar and I agree to disagree on the matter of the new visions. It is our usual resolution to most things. The man is vexing but brilliant. He is an asset to the school. Now, if only his manners were of the more courtly cut. He upsets Helga so. I shall speak to him on the morrow before we leave for London in search of our wandering spirit. Rowena seems certain she may guide us true._

_We have returned chastened not triumphant. The human heart is fragile yet is the strongest driving force in the universe, this I firmly believe. Justice will not be done nor a peaceful resolve kept I fear. Blood must be shed to appease the angry fates. Rowena and Salazar were in agreement on death as the solution and I must match to that though my own heart grieves. Can there not be a better way? I had thought we had expelled from within us the savage that reacts in fear and ignorance, I am witness here to say that we have not._

Minerva copied the text to a parchment for later review. She scanned the rest of the journal but there was nothing else she deemed important or relevant. She looked to Albus who was flipping through the giant Book of Names. Inside were listed all the magical children in Britain to whom Hogwarts letters were to be sent. It dated back to the time of the founders. "

I do not see the prophecy written down. How frustratingly lax. Any luck, Albus?"

Albus turned a page. "No. I do not see a single Parnam or name of similar derivatives in the lists. It was an unlikely possibility seeing as her line surely took on her husband's name." Albus closed the book and rubbed his weary eyes.

"Godric's entry is somewhat useful. There is something to it. I can feel it but the letters are dancing highland jigs before my eyes."

"That is a sure sign that we need sleep. Have a good night, my dear."

"Good night, Albus."

Professor McGonagall placed the journal in its shelf and departed. Albus turned the light off and went to bed. Their mystery would still be awaiting them tomorrow but they had made a good start of it today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hint: There's a coded message in Godric's journal entry.


	8. Tracing Lines

Minerva walked into the library during her morning free period. Minerva had yesterday asked the librarian to do some research on family trees namely those of the Neuvilettes and the Parnams. She wanted to see if any progress had been made.

Madam Irma Pince bustled to her side several rolled parchments in her hand. She laid out one of the parchments on a broad table. "I'm sorry I don't have better information, Minerva."

"I was not expecting very much. Record keeping in those days was very sparse and haphazard. Show me what you have, Irma."

Irma pointed at the graphical family tree as she talked. "Let us start with the Parnams. Isabel Parnam was the only daughter of an herbalist of some renown in his day by the name of Ezra Parnam. He was married to Wilhelmina Parnam nee Stanley. They had another child besides Isabel, a son, but he died in childhood. Isabel Parnam married James Matthias Wilton, a textile merchant of some means. James was a great deal older than his wife - 12 years to be exact. Isabel and James had 3 children - Philip, Elias and Katherine. Elias died in midlife with no direct, known issue. Philip married Anne Stewart and moved to Scotland taking over his wife's family's farm and store near Glasgow. Katherine inherited her grandfather's ways with herbs and became a healer. She married a scribner of Welsh extraction Frank Ardweil who took over the textile business."

"So, the Parnam line is ended, branching off to two new lines Wilton and Ardweil. There is issue for another generation then the Ardweil line disappears. Katherine and Frank had four children. The oldest, Tristan, died in a drunken wizard's duel, with no issue. Grace, the second oldest, married a baker Jonathan Pendry. The second son and third child, Daniel, was widowed early but had one child Nathaniel. The last child, Robert, took the cloth. He died in extreme old age in a Benedictine monastery, no issue. Nathaniel married late. His two sons died in the first world war. The Ardweil line ended with them. Now, the daughter Grace Pendry had one daughter Juliana. I have found one source indicating that Juliana was a talented healer near Argyle, but nothing else of her later life. Did she marry or have children? I don't know."

Minerva pursed her lips. She had known that genealogy tracking was tricky but she had expected better results. "And the Wilton line, how did that fare?"

Pince moved her wand to the other side of the tree. "Philip Wilton and Anne Stewart had two children - Isabel, named after her grandmother, and John. Isabel married a storekeeper named Ruald Lester. The last descendant of that line died last year, a wand accident, I believe. John Stewart's descendants remained in Glasgow. They owned the the Glasgow Glassworks. The company was sold to the Malfoys last year by the last of the Stewarts - Rianna Stewart Macleish who died soon after he sale. So, ends the line of Philip Wilton."

Minerva sat down and rubbed at her temples. She could feel a migraine on the way. "Parnam, Ardweil, Wilton, Stewart - all gone. There must be one line left."

"Excuse me, Minerva? One line?"

"Oh, Irma, just a ... to prove my theory I need a descendant of Isabel Parnam."

"Perhaps, if I knew more of this project of yours, I could fine tune the search."

"It's a small project really, not worth wasting your time on. A pet project you might say." Minerva looked over the tree again tracing the children's parental lines one more time. Her finger stopped at one name. "Juliana, Irma. You said that you could find nothing on her. Did you find a death certificate or notice?"

"No, nothing other than that one source."

Minerva inhaled and exhaled slowly. "She's the one, must be. Irma, could you provide me with a copy of that information source for Juliana Pendry?"

"Certainly, by lunchtime?"

"Perfect. And since she was a healer, can you extend the search horizontally to ... to ... I don't know, scientific documents. Perhaps she worked jointly with another healer on something. Farfetched, but we must try everything." Minerva looked thoughtful for a moment. "Irma, what does it mean when a line is no longer traceable?"

"There are various possibilities. Death is the most obvious. Or a marriage not conducted and recorded and therefore cannot be linked back to the parental lines. Or the descendant line becomes diluted into the muggle population. We have difficulty tracing anyone once they lose their magical abilities."

"So, it is plausible that Juliana married a muggle."

"Or a half-muggle.” Pince added. "Or a squib."

"Another possibility. Perhaps Juliana broke away from her family, became disinherited somehow."

"Yes, that could be. The family would cease to record her legacy if they regarded her as dead to them I suppose."

"Hmm, do you know how muggles record marriages, Irma?"

The librarian shrugged. "I have the barest of ideas, Minerva. My second cousin Farley married a muggle. He said that he had to register the marriage at his wife's local court or register office."

Minerva considered these new bits of information. She reminded herself to stop by the infirmary as the throbbing in her head was getting worse. She would ponder the Parnam situation later. "What about the de Neuvilette line?"

"That was easy." Irma rolled up the Parnam tree and laid out the de Neuvilette tree. "Antoine de Neuvilette had no issue, however, he had an older brother Gaston and a younger brother Maxim. Gaston inherited the furniture business. Though not as prosperous as it was in his father's time, he was prosperous enough. His sons sold the furniture concern and with Maxim's descendants became vintners and wine makers."

Minerva gasped. "The Grande Neuvilette brand of wines is theirs?"

"One and the same." Irma nodded. "They began with a small vineyard in the south of France. Over time, they bought out their neighbors and expanded to what they are today. There are two surviving lines in the families of Henri de Neuvilette and his cousin Annalisa Neuvilette Pernoud.''

"For the sake of my curiosity, Irma, what happened to Antoine de Neuvilette?"

Irma rifled through her notes. "Antoine ... here he is. Per the family history penned by Claude Antoine de Neuvilette, one of Maxim's sons, Antoine went to England and apparently died after a prolonged illness. Plagues were quite virulent then. Cholera most likely."

Minerva refrained from answering. "Where did he die?"

"Scotland." The librarian read her notes twice. "Wait, that cannot be correct. He was known to have a partner in London. How did he get to Scotland?"

Minerva became aware of the time. "Irma, I have a class to go to. Thank you so much for the help."

"I ought to thank you. That bit of research added some variety to my day, Minerva," said the librarian with a smile. "Is there anything else you need?"

"Not at present, but I'll let you know. I have to do some thinking."

As Minerva entered her class she said under her breath. "Three keys. Four left."


	9. The Team Complete

Madam Pince was used to an orderly procession of days during the week. A library if organized and managed properly literally ran itself. Her main preoccupation during the school term was investigating the old books and manuscripts held in trust at Hogwarts. There were many rare collections and editions that were archived in the school gathered from the founders themselves, from various faculty who contributed over the years as well as the occasional donor. Much of all this resided in two massive rooms in the back of the library. There was a smaller side room which served as a workshop of sorts.

Much like Professor Snape minding his private working potions room, Madam Pince regarded her workshop as sacrosanct. Being a librarian entailed more than cataloging and shelving books, at least at Hogwarts. When not needed in the library, Madam Pince could be found in her work room restoring old materials to as close to their original state as possible, or failing that, preserving the works as best she could. The workshop even had a walk-in vault where the most delicate or dangerous materials were stored until they could be dealt with properly. The room was understandably off limits to students and access was limited to the headmaster, deputy headmistress and Madam Pince herself. It was in her workshop that Minerva found Irma a little after dinner.

"Working late, Irma?" Minerva closed the door carefully behind her.

"I'm close to deciphering the locking mechanism on this book here." Irma put her wand away and pulled her attention from a battered first edition of Unnatural Transfigurations. "What is the point of applying locking charms on books if the owner doesn't make a point to remember the unlocking phrase or phrases?"

"An estate donation?"

Irma sat on a tall stool by the work bench. She rolled her shoulders forwards and backwards to work out the stiffness that an hour of concentration left behind. "The Mandeville bequest. Old Dixon left quite a cache. Unfortunately, his grandson did not know how to unlock any of the books so I'm having a go at them. What brings you to my corner of the castle?"

"More research requests I'm afraid and something else, a mystery." Minerva smiled at the other woman. "You think you can leave Mandeville's hoard for a little while?"

"Something to do with the genealogy research?"

Minerva nodded. "I conferred with Albus and he agreed that you were vital to the team."

"This is getting quite interesting." Irma forgot all about her stiff neck.

"You don't know the half of it. Come on, I need to introduce you to someone. Then, later, I am going to need your help to convince Albus that we need to plan a little trip."

A few hours later, Irma found herself sitting in Minerva's sitting room opposite the headmaster. She had been dumbfounded when she met the newly living Bloody Baron. Irma could not help but feel a thrill of anticipation at hearing Minerva's plans; the same thrill that was normally reserved for finding a valuable first edition or rare document.

* * *

Minerva stood by a blackboard hovering in midair. On it were the same things that had been on her classroom blackboard. "According to the antique letter that Irma found, Juliana Pendry was a talented healer, one born with the natural gift of healing hands. Based on that letter, from one of Juliana's convalescing patients, we have our starting point. That is the town of Kilmartin in Argyle where the letter originated from." With a quick wave of her wand, the word 'Kilmartin' was listed on the blackboard. "That is where Irma and I intend to go."

"I do not see the need for this excursion at this time. We have yet to finish analyzing the artifacts left by Rowena and Salazar. Did you not say that Godric's journal was begging for more attention?"

"Albus, given what we know and that we both agree that time is of the essence, I feel very strongly that of all the questions I posed, only one is absolutely paramount. That is the question of what happened to Isabel's line that caused the baron's resurrection. We already have a fairly good idea of what happened in the past from the baron. Now, we need to know the present. One possibility is that the line died out. If it has, then does that mean that the significant figure has already emerged? If not, then why not and will that non-event change our future?"

Albus opened his mouth to speak but Minerva pressed on.

"Going on the supposition that a recent death triggered the baron's transformation, Irma and I consulted the obituaries for the last week both in the Prophet and the registrar of wizarding deaths maintained by the Ministry and cross matched the information against the wizarding genealogy listings. No individual deceased in the last week was, on the surface, related to Isabel Parnam. I have a suspicion that Juliana's descendants are muggles now."

Albus' eyebrows rose at this new possibility.

"I did a very cursory review of muggle obituaries in the Argyle area but that doesn't help us at all because we have no way of recognizing a Pendry descendant," Irma clarified.

Minerva nodded gratefully at her cohort. "So, you see, Albus, the only way to continue on is to go to Kilmartin. We may be to able to pick up the trail there."

"And after that where to?" Albus tapped his fingers on the armchair. "This ... trip has the markings of a quest."

"We have many questions and barely any answers. Where the trail leads, we ought to follow." Minerva looked earnestly at the headmaster. "I admit my reasoning is based on the slimmest of evidence and assumptions, but ... but, at this point, it is all we have."

"I am not questioning your reasoning. My concern remains where it has always been, on the prophecy." Albus looked at Irma. "Irma, this is a portion that we have only a vague understanding of. What is obvious in Rowena's writings is that her vision, her original vision, is tied to a larger prophecy. That prophecy is not written in any material that we have available. Because we do not know it, I am ... worried that we will affect the prophecy unknowingly."

"Albus, we can affect the prophecy by something we do, as much as if we do nothing at all."

"A valid point."

Minerva asked. ”So, you'll teach my classes for a few days?"

Albus gave in. "You have four days after which I want both of you back here. No matter what you find. And no risk taking, Minerva. Irma, I look to you to be the voice of restraint if Minerva becomes too headstrong. Is that understood, ladies?"

Minerva and Irma nodded agreement in unison.

* * *

Albus knocked on Minerva's door very early the next day. Minerva answered the door still in her night attire. He quickly took in her disheveled appearance as well as the rather sensual burgundy nightgown she wore. While the gown draped upon the floor and was certainly not immodest, it did hint at the pleasing figure underneath. "Did I wake you, Minerva?"

"Not exactly. I had just got up." Minerva ushered him in. "Irma and I plan on an early start."

"The two of you loose upon an unsuspecting world. My permission may have been granted too easily."

"We need to do this. You know I'm right and -"

"Minerva, please, I did not come here to argue." Albus raised his hands to stop her protests. "I came to give you this." He held up a gold necklace. A small gold heart dangled upon it. "It's a special alarm. Should you ever want me, you need only hold it in your hand and say my name. Fawkes and I will come to your aid immediately.”

Minerva could not decide whether to be more delighted or more puzzled. "Why a ... a heart?"

"Why not?" Albus walked behind her and wound the pendant around her neck. Minerva gathered her long hair to the side to give him better access. "It would seem like the natural thing for a woman to wear."

"Yes, yes, of course, very natural." Minerva fingered the heart pendant as Albus fastened the clasp. She could feel the warm wisps of his breath on the back of her neck. Her own heart strangely enough was beating far too fast for so early in the day.

"If anyone inquires, you may say that it is a gift from one who cares greatly about you. It would not be a lie." Albus managed the clasp and moved to face her again. His gaze followed the gold chain to the pendant nestled just above the hollow between her breasts. He cleared his throat noisily and transferred his eyes to her face. "It suits you."

"Thank you, Albus." She looked up at him. "I'll return it as soon as we return.”

"The pendant is yours. Think of it as an early birthday present."

"My birthday was last month."

"A late birthday present then." Albus' eyes fell on her lips before drifting back to her eyes. "I only want one thing from you."

"And that would be?"

"A promise. A promise to be very, very careful. Never forget what you have there and use it when you need to. Do you promise?"

"I promise. I won't forget."

"And you'll come back in four days?"

"Not a day longer."

Albus stepped back and straightened his robes. "Well, very good. I'll see you off at the gates in an hour." He was about to close her door when some imp inside him made him say, "By the by, Minerva, I hope you're packing something more substantial than that gown, fetching though it is. I wouldn't want you to get a cold."

He closed the door shut but not before seeing the first hints of a blush on Minerva's face.


	10. Kilmartin

Professor McGonagall and Madam Pince apparated into Kilmartin village before dawn in the best semblance of muggle clothing they could muster - pant suits, good walking shoes and light coats. Though the village square was deserted, they kept their hands in their pockets clutching their wands. It took them only a few minutes to find their lodgings, the Kilmartin Hotel. The bed and breakfast establishment was a whitewashed, two story building with an aura of easy welcome about it. It was situated in the heart of the village and so was deemed an ideal choice for a base camp.

The night clerk greeted them cheerfully. "Good morning, ladies, me name's Jamie. Are you here for rooms?"

Minerva smiled back happy to hear a genuine Scottish brogue again. She pulled out a muggle credit card from her purse. "Yes, do you have a suite available?"

"Yes, I do." Jamie turned the register book to a new page. "If you could sign in here. I'll get your keys."

Minerva and Irma signed the register both listing their home addresses as Hogwarts Academy in the Highlands. Jamie deposited two sets of keys on the counter. "If you give me the keys to your car, I can unload your luggage."

Irma and Minerva exchanged sideways glances. Irma answered for both of them. "That's quite all right. We were ... were escorted here by a relative." She held up her own overnight bag. "We travel light as you can see."

"Of course. If you would follow me, I'll take you to your rooms. This way please."

Minerva and Irma followed Jamie up the staircase. Their room was unusually roomy with a bedroom with two twin beds, a bath and a spacious sitting room.

Stoking a new fire in the hearth, Jamie asked, "You must be tired having such an early journey. Would you like breakfast sent up? The kitchens are closed yet but I can manage some tea, toast and preserves."

Minerva laid her bag on the sofa and was discreetly studying the room. "If you could, that sounds wonderful. We skipped breakfast, you see."

Jamie left with assurances of returning with breakfast shortly. Irma laid out her notes on the desk in the sitting room.

Minerva peered out the window. She surveyed the surrounding buildings. "The church is across the street and Kilmartin House is right next to it."

"We have a few hours until they open." Irma experimented with the ballpoint pen and pad of paper she found on the desk. One could not very well use a quill in public. She drew a few squiggles on the pad getting used to holding the pen.

As she stood by the window, Minerva's hand subconsciously stroked the pendant. "I also see a pub, an apothecary and a stationers."

"Oh, good. I'm going to buy several of these, uh, pens you lent me. Much smoother than a quill and no ink blots to be careful about."

“Don’t get spoiled. They won’t work at school.”

“Pity.” Irma stopped doodling. “Will the ink disappear?”

“Not if it’s on parchment.” Minerva sat on the sofa removing her shoes. She laid back and closed her eyes.

“Hmm, what other loopholes are there in the anti-muggle spell at Hogwarts? Yes, I am assuming there are other ways around it,” said Irma. “I am also assuming that you know them all.”

Minerva laughed softly. “I blundered into most of them I assure you. All accidental I swear.”

Irma uncapped the red gel pen. “Look at that line. So bold. A bit much I think.”

Eased of some of her earlier tension, Minerva summoned a duvet from a bed. She covered her cold legs. “"Irma, thank you for coming. Your company is appreciated.“

"Tosh! Anything I can do to help, I'll do." Irma looked up from her doodling. "Minerva, I get the impression that we are racing against time."

"Your impression is correct."

"How much time do we have?"

"We don't have a definite time period. It is better to say that we are in need of as much information as we can find before something else happens."

"What could happen?"

"Are you familiar with the theory of inter-dimensional time displacement?"

"I understand the mechanics and theories behind strands and knots and how certain rules apply to them."

"Albus and I concur that the baron's resurrection is or was extraordinary. It must be unplanned as far as actual events. So, it is a factor that is affecting or could affect our strand, our time period." Minerva covered her eyes with her forearm. "If we are to do the least damage to time, we must curtail our actions to a very small window or portion of the strand. I calculate that space to be a week at most. Whatever effect the baron's resurrection will have on our time will or should be revealed soon, if the rules are correct that is."

"If? If they are correct?"

"Nothing is perfect. Albus explained to me that prophecies have a way of disturbing or changing the knots on a strand. It is one reason why the true nature of prophecies are known only to a few people at a time. As for the rules, Albus says to treat them as guidelines not absolutes."

"In other words, we are working blind."

“Utterly.”

* * *

At nine-thirty in the morning, Minerva and Irma positioned themselves at the door of Kilmartin Church. The churchyard had grave sites dating as far back as the 1300s. By their estimation, Juliana Pendry lived in the 1300s and died sometime in the early 1400s. If Juliana had lived in the area, the church records and the graves may yield critical clues. The vicar led them to the oldest grave markers which were housed in a mausoleum next to the church.

While the vicar was off studying what records he could find for any mention of the Pendry family, Minerva and Irma examined the markers intently. Discreetly, they would cast reveal spells to see if the markers had any hidden magical attributes.

A half hour later, Irma called out excitedly, "Minerva! I found something."

Minerva found the librarian making a quick copy on to parchment of the detailed engravings on a stone marker four meters in height. At the top was a fading engraving of a ship with a cross on its sails. She peered closer and could not find anything unusual about it.

Irma took her wand and pointed at a small drawing near the base of the marker. "Here, Minerva, do you see this symbol - three triangles one inside the other with a star outlined over them?"

"Yes, what does it mean?"

"It's the medieval symbol for a healer, a magical healer."

Minerva looked around them making sure they were unobserved.

Irma flicked her wand and cast her spell."When I cast a reveal spell, it happened. Tell me if you recognize it."

The symbol glowed with a dim blue aura. The aura crept up the marker. Foreign words appeared on the marker in glowing blue script. Minerva watched entranced. She recognized some of the words. "It's in Gaelic, old Gaelic."

Irma cast a quick copy spell to transfer the script to her notepad. "Can you read any of it?"

"I'm not sure of my translation skills, Irma. From what I can tell it's a message."

"A message?"

"Yes, it refers to a location the ..." Minerva squinted then recoiled as if in shock. " ... the burial place of Juliana Pendry."

Irma gasped beside her. "Oh, my!"

"This marker was made by her son Andre de Sauvignon." The script was fading quickly. Minerva traced a strange drawing near the bottom - seven concentric circles and in the center was some kind of hollow indentation like a cup. "This symbol here represents the location somehow."

Irma peering over Minerva's shoulder focused on the symbol. "It's familiar. I've seen it before but where?"

Minerva looked around them. Her animagi-influenced hearing heard the vicar returning. She made to stand in front of the marker.

The vicar, Mr. Hilliard, bustled over. "I'm afraid, ladies, that our records show no entries for a surname of Pendry."

Minerva feigned disappointment. "I see. That's too bad but thank you for looking, Mr. Hilliard."

"I see you found one of our tourist magnets there." Mr. Hilliard motioned to the grave slab.

"Really?" exclaimed Irma.

"It's a bona fide marker made for a Knight Templar. See the galley and the Templar cross on it,” Mr. Hilliard said. "We know that some Templars came from France. Perhaps sailing through Loch Sween until they reached here."

"I didn't know that. How interesting!" Irma said truly surprised.

"Kilmartin isn't as well known as other places in Templar history. A group of them stayed in this area in secret for seven or eight years after escaping from France. The last trace of them was just after Bannockburn when they fought alongside Robert the First."

"Last trace?"

"Yes, they disappeared. Reasons unknown. The prevailing theory is that they went to Roslyn and settled there instead." Mr. Hilliard provided.

Minerva asked, "Where were these markers found originally?"

"I don't know exactly. I believe they were originally in the graveyard here but they didn't mark actual graves. Local lore says that they were originally elsewhere. They were stored at the museum. And at some time in the last thirty years, the markers were brought to our church. About ten years ago, we had them brought inside the mausoleum for preservation purposes. We’re having some construction work inside so we took them out again this week.“

Minerva nodded imperceptibly to Irma. It was time to leave. Minerva shook hands with the vicar thanking him profusely for his aid. With renewed purpose, Minerva and Irma left the church headed for Kilmartin House which housed the local museum. Irma racked her brain trying to remember where she had seen the circular symbol before.

They had found Juliana Pendry and now the trail beckoned them onward final destination unknown.


	11. Enlightenment Awaits

The Kilmartin House Cafe was cozy and rustic with wide oak beam trusses lining the ceiling. Minerva and Irma could not resist the cafe's engaging atmosphere. Besides, after the revelations in the churchyard, a chance for refreshments was very welcome indeed.

Minerva smiled up at the waiter. "Two Irn Brus, please."

"Irn what?" Irma asked.

"Trust me."

Irma looked over the short menu. "The raspberry buns sound delicious."

The waiter grinned. "Yes, that they be. Two for you, ladies?"

Irma nodded her head. She perused through the various pamphlets she had picked up at the entrance. One pamphlet displaying a map of the various archeological sites in and around Kilmartin caught her attention.

As soon as the waiter was out of sight, Minerva opened Irma's notebook and took out a pen. She tore one blank sheet off to use for notes. She turned to the page where the Gaelic message was copied. Her mouth moved as she read the message under her breath.

Irma, too, made comments under her breath. "I never knew there were so many archeological sites in this area. Over a hundred fifty, it says here."

"Remember, we only have four days," Minerva added. On her sheet, she had jotted down the words "Lady of the Shores" and "gaidheal."

"If I can only remember where I've seen that symbol before. Prehistoric, I'm fairly sure," Irma shook her head. "Making any headway with that?"

"It's very ancient with references to Celtic lore and intended only for a wizard or witch to recognize and understand."

"Her son, Andre de Sauvignon, was no squib. That's certain."

Their order arrived. The two ladies ate while they continued to study their materials. Irma racked her brain for any knowledge of prehistoric Scotland. On the map, Irma crossed off sites that she was sure did not fit within a prehistoric time line. Argyle and the area around Kilmartin was very much a population center with strong druid cultural influences. The assumption that the grave site was in the area was a near certainty but finding it, well, that could prove tricky.

"I have it, Irma, a rough translation," Minerva said quietly. She leaned closer to Irma and began to recite softly just above a whisper. "The message is ... "

 

_In this hard earth of Alba,_

_She lays warm, favored by the Lady of the Shores,_

_Loving mother, loyal wife, warrior true._

 

_Enlightenment awaits._

_You guardians of fate, wielders of light._

_Speak caution, gaidheal, say truth._

 

_The way is her doing, her right,_

_By blood, by birthright, by gift,_

_Cloaked in mists of far memory, shadows, dreams._

 

_Be warned, destroyers of destiny,_

_The hands of protection and the portals of death,_

_For they guard her rest, her wending way._

 

Irma gaped at her. "Minerva, what have we gotten ourselves into?"

Minerva's eyes were alight with mischief. "A quest! And a connection to Rowena's prophecy. It's a slim connection but it's there."

"Yes. The references to destiny and fate is obvious. What is a gaidheal?"

"It means a ... a speaker of Gaelic. There were many dialects back then but, even so, there was a basic root of the language that all speakers would understand." Minerva explained. She slid her note page towards Irma.

"Blood, birthright and gift can only refer to her being born a witch." Irma smiled. "The ancients used to say that the druids cast light in their wake. Since most druids were truly wizards and witches that too points to magicians. Alba is an old word for land of the Scots. What about Lady of the Shore?"

"I strongly believe it refers to Brighid or Brigit who was one of the three goddesses in Celtic folklore. She was the goddess of fire. She protected healers, poets and craftsmen. Very apropos in this case."

"The son has a bit of the poet in him it seems." Irma observed. "First part is a lovely tribute to his mother."

Minerva's expression was grave. "It is now obvious. Juliana Pendry didn't disappear, Irma. She hid because she had something to hide."

"Something or someone, Minerva. The lines about her right, her blood, her birthright and her gift are too personal to my mind. She was hiding herself and her family had to know." Irma made more notes in her notebook. "Allying with the Templars makes sense if she felt that she needed protection. The Templars had the means to protect her."

"Yes, to protect her from the destroyers of destiny, if I'm interpreting the last stanza correctly."

"The prophecy was known to others?" Irma asked. "How can that be?"

"It's possible. All those trips the baron embarked on, perhaps, something else was changed that we are not yet aware of."

"Destroyers of destiny seems to be in direct opposition to guardians of fate. Two opposing forces after the same thing. But what, what is it?"

"You said it before, Irma. Juliana was protecting herself or in other words her line. Somehow she knew that one day her line would produce a historically critical descendant."

"But how did she know? Did the baron intimate something of the kind when he spoke to Isabel? Or ... or was she openly pursued by whoever?"

Minerva shook her head. "Our questions outpace our answers, spiraling ever outward. We need to find her grave. The word 'way' is mentioned twice and in such a well structured riddle, two mentions is suspicious. 'Wending' indicates proceeding. It is as clear an instruction as we are likely to receive. We find the grave and that will lead us on our quest.”

Irma raised an eyebrow. "Minerva, I believe you are enjoying this whole thing a bit much."

Minerva returned the eyebrow. "And you aren't?"

The two women laughed softly in complete understanding.

For the next two hours, Irma and Minerva appraised every exhibit and artifact in the museum with great care. They concentrated on artifacts and presentations dating to the approximate time of Juliana's time. Not finding any useful information, they extended their search to the times immediately before and after Juliana's time period. Again, there was no success. Their last resort was going further back in time.

Energies flagging and spirits low, they set upon one of the last exhibits. It concerned the earliest time periods about 5000 years ago. A photo, close up, showed vividly a series of cup and ring images marked into hard rock.

Tamping down nervous excitement, Irma compared the copy of marker figure to that on the photo. "Remember, I said that the symbol was familiar, Minerva?"

"Yes." Minerva looked about but they were alone in the area.

"I saw it years ago in a book about primitive henges and religious sites." Irma said a spell and a holographic image of the marker image appeared in the air. Irma moved the floating image beside the photograph. She peered closely. "It's identical, Minerva." Irma's voice quivered. "It says here that these are from rock formations in Achnabreck."

"Does not sound familiar to me."

Irma opened her map and looked for the site. "It's south of here, far south."

"Think you can find it in the dark?"

"Excuse me?"

"We have our first point in the quest and we are going there tonight."

"It's quite far. How do you propose we get there? Have you ever driven a muggle auto ... auto-mobile?"

Minerva snorted. "Of course not. However, I do have two shrunken brooms back at the hotel. Under cover of darkness, we are going to find Juliana's grave."

"I take it back. You're not enjoying this. You are obsessed." Irma said. "Let's see if we can find a more detailed map. No sense bumbling around in the dark."

"As soon as it gets dark, we start flying." Minerva traced the photo with one finger. "Juliana is leading us forward and we have to follow. For her sake, the Baron's and, just maybe, for our world."


	12. Rowena's Resolve

Albus Dumbledore believed in doing his duty even if duty conflicted with his personal desires, feelings and preferences. Tonight, as he gazed at the students eating their dinner, Albus knew his duty was clear. He had to keep up appearances.

He forced his lips to a form a small smile; his eyes to look more alert than they had been all day. Dutifully, he ate his meal though every bite was tasteless as paper. When his glance lingered to the chair lying empty beside him, he mentally repeated to himself that an entire day had already passed and three days really wasn't that far away.

"72 hours to go," Dumbledore murmured.

Professor Flitwick turned his head at the sound. "What was that, Albus?"

"Nothing, Filius, "

"So, how are you enjoying substitute teaching?"

Albus smiled his first genuine smile all day. "Surprisingly pleasant, Filius. I did not realize how much I missed teaching."

"I am sure that all the students are on their best behavior."

"For now," Albus chuckled. "I hope the novelty does not wear off before Minerva's return."

 

* * *

The lady being referred to was at that moment sharing an indulgence. Two whiskeys neat sloshed in their glasses as Minerva and Irma toasted to a good hunt.

"Courage and good providence," Irma said.

"To the next clue and success," Minerva took a healthy sip.

"It's seven now. Shall we leave at about eleven?" Irma asked leaning against a pillow set on one end of the sitting room sofa. Her notes lay on her lap. "By my calculations, we should reach Achnabreck in less than 2 hours."

"1 hour. We are not using school brooms."

"We're not?"

"No. We are, ah, evaluating some new models for the Nimbus line."

"Do I want to know how you arranged that?"

"No."

"I am not the best of flyers, Minerva." warned Irma.

"Not to worry. These are not racing brooms but courier brooms. Speedy but utterly safe."

"You said evaluation did you not? Are these prototypes?"

"Working prototypes. One could execute corkscrew spins through flaming hoops and be completely under control, or so I'm told."

Irma looked sharply at the transfiguration mistress. "Minerva -"

"Milosh assures me that they are completely safe. I trust him absolutely."

"That would be Milosh Dvorak owner of Nimbus, Inc?"

"The very one."

""Does Albus know about this ... this commercial opportunity?"

"I would rather not say."

 

* * *

The portraits in the headmaster's office were rarely at a loss for words. Many of them had been in their near perpetual graphic existence for many decades. They had seen many things and were too experienced to be frightened by most things. However, the ancient strongbox lying on the headmaster's desk was most definitely not in the most things category.

The cabinet was old, older than the castle. Its magic protection extended to the very grain of the wood. In the magic world, anything old had to be treated with respect because age did not mean a decline in influence or potency. No, the general rule of thumb was that age was to be respected and extreme age was to be feared. As one, the portraits averted their eyes as Albus gently opened the lid. A few of the portraits plugged their ears with their fingers while others forced themselves to sleep.

The headmaster scanned the contents of the cabinet with a critical eye. Several dozen opaque orbs lay inside piled one on top of the other. Though dusty and innocuous, the orbs drew the eye. The cabinet and the orbs were Rowena's bequest to the school and only the headmaster or the deputy headmistress had any access to it.

Rowena Ravenclaw had a known antipathy towards journals and parchment preferring to keep her thoughts within these crystal orbs. Unfortunately, she did not employ a straightforward labeling method. Albus had devoted several hours to simply listening to various orbs picked at random. Sifting through Rowena's observations whether mundane or brilliant was time consuming. Unfortunately, he could not trust the task to anyone else.

Though Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin had been far better known than Rowena Ravenclaw, her skills were formidable and her male counterparts were justly appreciative and intimidated. She was not the idealistic diplomat as Godric was viewed nor was she the artful manipulator that Salazar embodied so effortlessly. No, she was a realist - singular in purpose, nearly cruel in her pragmatism yet always unflinchingly fair.

Albus removed an orb from the cabinet and carefully laid it on a holder. He tapped the orb twice with his wand before settling down into his chair for what promised to be a long evening.

After a few minutes of silence, the long ago voice of the greatest seer of the wizarding world drifted through the office - soft, naturally rhythmic yet carrying the sharp edge of authority. After a section describing the various research and topics that Rowena was currently investigating, Albus was startled to hear other voices.

One voice, a man's, was deep almost guttural and decisive in tone. "I do not see the difficulty. We need eliminate his contamination of the continuum. Of this we are agreed."

"Murder I shall not condone. We must tread carefully until more knowledge comes to light." This second male voice was of softer timbre yet the speaker's absolute conviction was unmistakable.

"Then be it as you say! Naught will we do. Upon this prophecy's fruition our corpses shall be dust and ash. Therefore, what care do we need to expend now?"

"Great care and even greater diligence, Salazar," Rowena's voice joined the conversation. "Much needs to be undone."

"It has been five days, Rowena, Neuvilette remains crazed."

"His will has long been harnessed to his desires. It shall change and his mind will be clear to reason. We must exercise patience."

"Then what are we do, Rowena? We shall need more than the three of us and one of that time device to complete our mission." asked the other voice. A voice that Albus deduced to be that belonging to Godric Gryffindor. "I do not agree that ridding ourselves of Neuvilette is the answer yet we must act. There were three families killed today near Kent. As they slept, their homes were set aflame. Swords and blades greeted those attempting escape."

"Our course is one. Neuvilette is the cause of all this. Kill him now I say,” Salazar urged.

"No, Neuvilette is merely the unexpected catalyst. This ... conflict with the mundanes shall not end. They fear our kind and always will." Rowena said. "Fear will drive the most docile of animals to mindless ferocity. Envy shall stir hate and intolerance in the sweetest of dispositions."

"Then we will fight back. We have grown soft -"

Godric interrupted, “We shall be no better than they."

"Unlike you, I do not advocate hiding in plain sight. We have a place in this world and I shall not surrender it!" The sounds of glass breaking punctuated this declaration.

Silence followed. Then Rowena sighed. "Peace, Salazar. Let reason stay your hand. I have witnessed prosperity for our kind in the midst of war and turmoil. We shall survive. Let us address our immediate concern - Neuvilette."

Godric spoke. "Helga shall have returned in two weeks. I shall inquire of two or three others to aid us."

"Nay. We alone shall be sufficient."

"We cannot be. There are many strands to investigate and knots to displace and replace."

"You are correct, Godric, there are a great multitude of possibilities affected. However, we will repair the origin and trust in others to see to the rest."

"Others?" Salazar asked in a low voice.

"Only those in the future can decide how best to affect change. We must trust that they will do what is best."

"That strategy seems imprecise and prone to folly," Salazar said.

"I admit to great misgivings myself, Rowena. This matter is of such import that leaving its disposition to mere chance, to fate, is ... is unfathomable."

"Fate is not nearly so capricious." Rowena replied. "Even with the prophecy we know too little. To assume a time and place for the denouement is ill-advised. Our tasks must be carried forward by witches and wizards of other times, other strands."

"How shall we be certain that they will know what to do, what to expect?" Godric inquired.

"I do not intend for our descendants to be without some guidance."

"What kind of guidance?"

"I am uncertain the form such will take. I need think well upon it,” Rowena admitted. "But now we must deal with the baron for I sense the darkness coming and quickly."

The voices ended. Albus Dumbledore sat stock still. His heart hammered in his chest. His mind reeled faced with the realizations that had dawned upon him like sunbursts in the dusky twilight.

Sensing his master's need, Fawkes flew to him. He rubbed his beak against Dumbledore's arm. Around the phoenix's neck was wrapped a golden heart pendant. Like its twin, it was warm and comforting to the touch. Should its twin be in jeopardy, the phoenix would know first then its master. With the evening's revelations heavy on his mind, Albus caressed the pendant in his palm taking some comfort in knowing that Minerva was safe.

 

* * *

Kilmartin lay quiet. Its quaint streets were empty of whizzing cars and anxious pedestrians. While most lamplights shone brightly along the street, four lamplights in the vicinity of the inn were conspicuously dark.

"Definitely handy." Minerva pocketed the put outer she had borrowed from Albus. Behind her she could hear Irma rustling getting herself comfortable on the new broom. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be. Onward!" Irma's firm grip on her broom handle was in direct contrast to the optimistic bravado in her voice. She was determined to see this quest through to the end fear or not.

The two ladies levitated. On the count of three, they flew out of the open window of the inn and into the inky blackness.

 

* * *

The headmaster sipped his hot cocoa. Though it was late sleep was not foremost on his mind. He had to find out what he could about the prophecy. And that meant listening to as many orbs as he could. With a growing sense of urgency, he calmed his mind and heart. He picked an orb randomly and began to listen.

Rowena's voice filled his ears once more. Unlike earlier, her voice now was marked with weariness and seeming despair. Her tone so sure and certain in the past was now hesitant and weak.

"Helga has done all she can for me. She and I fear the worst and I must resign myself to the inevitable. The strain, yes, I feel it as bands wrapped about me constraining my energy and will. Just ... just a bit longer, I must last."

Dumbledore heard the movement of parchment and quill. "Of the three, two are placed. The last and most vital marker must be concealed yet obvious. Where, oh where to put it?"

A sound of a door opening was heard then footfalls light and sharp. The next voice belonging to a woman was new to Dumbledore.

"Rowena, here is some tea. Cease and move away from that desk. You are not getting the rest I prescribed."

"I cannot rest, not yet, Helga. I see by your face that the news is not good."

"The boy has been found. He had hung himself in the forest."

"Dear Craddock, he was most promising. And Godric?"

"Heartbroken. He would take an axe to that cursed desk if he could. I would aid him without hesitation. Why do we simply not bury it deep somewhere and forget its very existence."

"We cannot. It must stay here ... for as long as necessary."

"Its lure is too dangerous. It calls to the young minds and hearts of our students. We know naught of its work until it is too late."

"It is temptation incarnate. I shan’t argue with you on that. Nevertheless, its power must be used. We have proven that it can be ... be useful."

Helga swore then said. "You and Salazar I do not understand your so called logic. It is plain the harm that is laid before any foolish enough to seek its empty promises. We must protect our students first and foremost."

"And we have," said Rowena hotly. Her voice sounded a little stronger, a little more urgent. “But we cannot rule the will of the individual. Craddock and the others sought it out. This they did do despite our warnings and explanations of the consequences.”

"We should have been more watchful nonetheless. Four students lost to us."

"Life is harsh. Tis better that the young learn that lesson early. We cannot ... will not ... be about to watch and decide for them what course of action is best. They must learn and so must we."

"I do not agree but your mind is set. And I must bow to the needs of the many, not the few." Helga Hufflepuff sighed. "Salazar informs me that his new spells and wards are nearly complete."

"Good. Once the desk is moved to the new tower we shall employ his new wards."

"We three will place the wards. You need to be in bed. Now. Take my arm."

"Oh, Helga, I ... I ..."

"How will you have strength to impart your bequest and duty to the new seer if you exhaust yourself so?"

"Very well, if I rest shall you desist your ... your coddling!"

The long ago voices faded.

Once more Dumbledore was left speechless. He was absolutely certain that somehow Rowena and perhaps Salazar had used the desk in some manner. A pernicious niggling suspicion writhed in his brain of a connection between the prophecy and the desk. But what was it?


	13. Achnabreck

Two brooms whistled through the inky darkness leaving behind a vaporous trail. They dipped and dived avoiding clouds and the sharp shafts of moonlight that could betray their presence. With cloaks streaming behind them and firm grips on their broom handles, Minerva and Irma made their way to Achnabreck at breakneck speed.

Irma relaxed her grip a tiny bit. The broom was surprisingly stable. She hardly felt the buffeting effects of the crosswinds and updrafts. Her feet and stomach had been too fond of solid earth for her to have enjoyed casually flinging herself through the air. Now, with some confidence and a secure broom, she relished the experience. This model is going to be a bestseller. I wonder if Minerva can get me a discount.

Minerva looked front, then back then sideways automatically searching for unwanted followers. Old habits died hard. Adrenaline coursed through her. She hardly felt the chill blanketing her on all sides. Her mind reviewed all they had uncovered about the quest. Subconsciously, she began to sing under her breath. “Fly me to the moon. And let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars. In other words hold my hand. In other words darling kiss me.”

Irma turned her head. "What was that, Minerva?"

"Hmmm?"

"You were singing something."

"Oh, that. It's just an old reflex." Minerva smiled. "A silly sort of routine I learned to settle my mind ... to relax.“

Irma replied. "It was important work what you did. Why do you sound dismissive of it?"

"I don't mean to be. I did love it working there during my sabbatical. It was lovely before the Ministry annexed it."

"I thought that its primary charter was left unchanged. "

"It still is the primary department charged with finding adult emergent wizards and witches but now there's a lot more bureaucracy."

Irma laughed. "Ah, now I see why Albus gave up full involvement in it. He did start it, didn't he?"

"It was one of his pet projects just before he became headmaster. He always said that it wasn't enough to help the children. Those of legal age are even more at risk,” Minerva said. "It is horrific to suddenly find yourself with abilities that terrify you. That could cause such pain. It was our ... his objective to find them and help them before they could do harm."

"I wanted to apply to the Emergent Corp once upon a time."

"You would have been more than qualified to apply."

"Well, yes, but, Minerva, only one percent of one percent of applicants are accepted. That's a rather intimidating statistic."

"That's not on purpose. It just happens to fall to that because the work could be as demanding as it was rewarding. Albus was paranoid about losing people who were unprepared,” Minerva said. "You should have applied."

"It was a flight of fancy nothing more. Besides, I'm hardly the type. I'm not ... not action-oriented like you."

"Now who is being dismissive."

"I'm being realistic. I don't know if I could react, think and do all at the same time, especially in a high stress situation. And I'm not a master in any magical discipline either."

"Irma, you're one of the finest restoration experts in the world. You are at master level and don't deny it!"

Irma huffed. "It's not a talent. It's been the family business for generations. I don't know anything else but that."

"That may be but you do it flawlessly. While you are not a master in a recognized discipline, you do employ aspects of all common disciplines in the course of your work. You do so to a degree that is far from average." Minerva scanned their surroundings again. "You do realize that working at Hogwarts qualifies as a nine-month marathon of crises amid adolescent angst and rebellion."

Irma chuckled. "Is that why you chose to work at Hogwarts then? The excitement and drama?"

"Hogwarts was only supposed to be temporary until I thought of what I wanted to do next. Somehow one year became two then three."

"And are you still deciding what you want?"

It was a full minute before Minerva replied quietly. "I believe I've found what I want."

Minerva's tone hinted that any further inquiries were not welcome. Irma took the hint and gave Minerva some privacy. The librarian began to recite Juliana's epitaph to herself to pass the time.

 _In this hard earth of Alba,_  
_She lays warm, favored by the Lady of the Shores,_  
_Loving mother, loyal wife, warrior true._

 _Enlightenment awaits._  
_You guardians of fate, wielders of light._  
_Speak caution, gaidheal, say truth._

 _The way is her doing, her right,_  
_By blood, by birthright, by gift,_  
_Cloaked in mists of far memory, shadows, dreams._

 _Be warned, destroyers of destiny,_  
_The hands of protection and the portals of death,_  
_For they guard her rest, her wending way._

 

* * *

The two witches glided down into a clearing a short distance from the actual site. They did nothing for several minutes getting their bearings and letting their senses acclimate. With wands out, they began walking out of the clearing. A tall metal mesh fenced was an unexpected obstacle.

"Let's just fly over it," Irma suggested.

"No, wait." Minerva picked up a twig and a rock. She tossed the rock straight at the fence. The rock went through a gap in the mesh. "It's not electrified. Good." The twig was tossed over the top of the fence. It landed on the ground on the other side. Minerva held up a hand while she looked around as if waiting for something. Then she nodded to Irma. "Nothing at the top or alarms on the ground. Let's fly over."

"I did not realize you were so familiar with muggle fences."

"I've had to navigate a few in order to find emergents who did not want to be found. I've learned to be cautious."

They trekked across a meadow. Along the way they stopped at various outcroppings. Some were marked with figures and some were not. To their dismay they found that the symbol they had discovered was a very common glyph. They spent precious time examining and testing each pillar and slab.

Minerva shook her head. "I don't think these are what we want. They're too ... too commonplace. I count at least 3 of these same rock formations in the far left and two more on the right. The grave marker in Kilmartin was the only one with a Templar galley on it. We need something unique or unusual. "

Irma pored over the photographs and maps of Achnabreck. "The major excavation sites are over there. Past that hill."

CRACK!

In one smooth movement, Minerva extinguished her wand, crouched low and motioned Irma to do the same. It might have been only a twig snapping but in that time and place it echoed like a gunshot.

The witches bent low back to back with eyes staring into the darkness. It was well past midnight and there should not have been anyone about. Minerva concentrated her senses scanning and listening for a few minutes. She heard only the rustling of grass and trees swayed by the wind. Satisfied that they were unobserved, Minerva ignited her wand once more. "Let's keep going. We don't have all night."

As they crested the hill, a vast expanse of gray came into view. It looked like someone had arranged an enormous slab of granite flat in the middle of the field. Their steps quickened. As they neared they could see that what they had thought was one continuous sheet of rock was really three sections. They stood poised peering at three enormous sections of flat rock covered with ringed cup engravings very much like the symbol they were intent on matching.

"Minerva, this is the largest artifact here. This has to be it."

"I shall take the left, Irma."

"And the right for me. Good hunting."

They circled the rock faces. It turned out that hundreds of figures were engraved on the rocks. Many of them with a similar spiral or circle pattern. They cast several spells in turn expecting to find the same kind of message they had found in Kilmartin. They would be disappointed.

"Reveal spells show nothing." Minerva made another circuit of the rocks.

Irma sighed. "And no hidden crypts underneath. I even checked for disillusionment charms."

"We haven't tested the figures in the middle. Shall I?" Minerva asked.

"It's worth a try."

Minerva transformed into a cat and jumped on to the rock faces. She passed a paw over each symbol as she made her way across the rock face. Thirty-five minutes later and still nothing. Minerva transformed with her frustration more than evident. "This is the right place but what are we missing?"

Irma leaned between two slabs. With her index finger she traced one of the circular cup figures. "Ought to be something simple. Something that someone in that time period could do."

As Irma finished talking a burst of purple sparks sparkled from underneath her finger. To their amazement, one by one other symbols across the rock face began to flash on and off in iridescent blues and reds like fireflies dancing in the air. Irma lifted her finger. As she did so all the lights faded and their surroundings were plunged back into darkness.

Irma mused, “Hand of protection methinks."

Minerva eyed the rock with new respect. "Enlightenment awaits, indeed."

Irma brushed her hand over the symbol and was rewarded with the same series of glowing figures. They waited and waited barely breathing. Seconds ticked into a full minute. One minute became several minutes. "Any suggestions, Minerva?"

"Not at the moment,” Minerva said. “It's in the poem. Has to be." She began to recite the poem in its original Gaelic.

The lights began to glow brighter.

Irma cried out. "Ow! It's starting to sting."

"Enlightenment awaits -"

"Minerva! My hand is burning. I can't pull free!"

"You guardians of fate, wielders of light, speak caution, gaidheal, say truth." Minerva’s gaze went from the rock to Irma's hand and back to the rock. Then she covered Irma's hand with her right hand.

"What are you doing!?" Irma asked.

"Firinn, firinn," Minerva repeated the word several times varying her speed, emphasis and pitch. "FIR-inn, FIRN, fi-RINN, fir-rin."

"We'll both be stuck!"

The light escalated to a near blinding white light. Minerva and Irma pulled at their hands trying to free them from the rock and each other. They could not. Their hands felt fused together. Daggers of heat shot from their palms upwards to their shoulders.

"Firrin is truth in gaelic. Say it with me, Irma!" Minerva yelled. "Fir-RIN, fir-RIN !"

In unison, they repeated the words in a sing song cadence. Heat swept through their bodies. Their knees nearly buckled underneath them for the pain. But still they chanted. "Fir-RIN, fir-RIN!"

Minerva's left hand fumbled for the locket but too late. She felt the ground give way beneath them. They began to sink into the earth.

Feet. Ankles. Knees. She became aware of a sensation that grew steadily more familiar with every passing second.

By the expression on Irma's face she knew what it was too. "Port key!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Achnabreck like Kilmartin are real places. The stones and symbols in this chapter are real.


	14. A Style Unique

The first thing Irma became aware of was her own breathing. It was deep and measured as it would be when one first awakens from a long night's slumber. Instead of the warmth and comfort of a thick quilt, a sharp chill clawed at her skin while her back pressed down on hard earth. In growing awareness, her fingers scrabbled over loose pebbles and dirt. With eyes still closed, Irma let out a groan.

"Feels like Firewhisky's Revenge doesn't it?" Lying beside Irma. Minerva sounded equally unsteady.

"Times ten, at least." Irma took a quick self inventory. All her body parts seemed intact if very sore. "Someone told me once how uneventful working at a school would be. Ha!"

"Get your bearings first. Watch the nausea." Sitting up, Minerva peered into the dark. Her ears strained to hear what sounds she could. The sounds of the forest night were the only sounds she could hear. "If the nausea and tiredness is anything to go by we just went through a powerful primitive port key."

Heeding Minerva's warning, Irma did not bother sitting up just yet. "I feel like someone trampled by a herd of thestrals. How long were we unconscious?"

"Hmm, not long maybe a half hour."

Irma rubbed her eyes then opened them. "Minerva, I see stars."

Minerva chuckled as she herself slowly got to her feet. Whatever doubts she may have had for Irma's reactions to extreme stress were set aside. Irma was not inclined to panic. "And what do they tell you?"

"That we are not in Kilmartin or Achnabreck any longer. The constellations are in a different perspective."

Minerva shook the dirt off her cloak. She looked around holding her wand aloft like a torch. She whispered, "Lumos."

They were in a small clearing surrounded by towering trees. Shafts of moonlight cast shadows against the tree trunks and the earth.

"Wait here a bit. I need to see above the tree line and find out where we are." Minerva pulled her shrunken broom from her pocket and enlarged it. She drifted skyward wand at the ready.

Minerva found herself hovering above a sprawling dense forest running alongside a calm river. By the height, size and density of the trees it was a very old forest. To the north by the river she could see the roof of a house. She saw no other signs of habitation close by. They were not in a residential neighborhood then. She looked to the far horizon for landmarks. The southern direction seemed to glow with light. Perhaps that way lay a city. It was not enough information to determine their true location but with the moon bright a riskier reconnaissance was out of the question.

"Definitely not Kilmartin," Minerva said to herself.

"Minerva!" Irma exclaimed. "Come down, quickly! Quickly!"

Minerva looked down. Her pulse quickened at what she saw happening around Irma. She dived then hovered above the ground beside the librarian. At their feet and around them in concentric circles, words formed letter by letter in fiery red script.

Just as the last letter appeared the letters began to fade in the order they appeared. The witches turned around several times mouthing the words frantically committing the message to memory before it disappeared entirely.

"Could it possibly be more cryptic," Minerva remarked. "I was expecting Gaelic not French."

On one knee, Irma felt the ground where the last letter disappeared. Her fingers tingled encountering the telltale sign of strong magic. Experienced in recognizing the signatures of spells by the times and styles of their creation, her eyes narrowed. In the course of her restoration work knowing the time period when a particular spell or charm was employed upon an object served as the first indication on how best to continue with the object's restoration. And sometimes it provided an unexpected insight into the object or the owner. At this moment she was confused. "Yes, I was expecting Gaelic, too. Minerva, this has a different signature than the others."

"What do you mean?"

"The spells on the grave marker and the stone slab at Achnabreck were the same. I mean that they felt that they were cast in the same time period probably by the same person. But this ..." Irma gestured on the ground "This feels very different. I can only describe it as a different style."

"Another person? Perhaps Andre de Sauvignon had an accomplice,” Minerva posited.

"De Sauvignon's spells and charms were cast about the late 1200s. This one was done in the late 1300s."

"You can be that precise?"

"A hundred years difference is hardly precise, Minerva." Irma scoffed. "I've handled books and parchments that old. I can determine the rough age by comparison and, well, experience."

"And the style? Was this one done by a more powerful wizard or witch?" Minerva's initial impression when watching the scripting was a generally high level of magical power and skill.

"More sophisticated I think rather than stronger. There's a certain finesse about this one." Irma continued. "Unlike the slab which needed someone to touch it and say a specific word this one is more discerning. I believe it's triggered by light of magical origin. Lumos!"

A minute after the spell was cast letters began to appear. While Irma read the words again, Minerva eyed the sky. It would be dawn soon. She retrieved and enlarged Irma's broom. "We can't stay here. We're too exposed." She handed the broom to Irma. "There were indications of a house or building nearby. We can plead to be lost travelers I suppose and obliviate any muggles in the morning."

"Minerva, wait. We have a problem," Irma said. "The phrase isn't the same as before.'

Minerva cast her companion an incredulous look. "What!?"

Irma explained. "The first and second lines are not the same. The word Baphomet was not mentioned in the first set. A word like that tends to be memorable."

Minerva cast another lumos spell. Both witches watched intently as words appeared yet again around them. This time it was she who grew alarmed. "That's different, too. The first line of the first set ends with the words 'Rivers End' and this one ... this one mentions 'a wending astray' or something."

Irma tapped her chin and said. "Curiouser and curiouser."

"Irma, you're hiding your concern very well," Minerva remarked dryly.

"You like strategy and delving into mysteries. I like puzzles." Irma grinned. "This one is very challenging. Let's see if there are any more stanzas shall we. Lumos!"

As before, letters glowed and coiled around them on the ground. This time both ladies read and memorized.

"Ah, this is the first stanza. That's certain."

Minerva cast the next required light spell and the second stanza appeared. Irma did the honors to reveal the third and final stanza.

 

* * *

With the three stanzas secured if not completely deciphered, the witches followed the river towards the house Minerva had spied earlier. Wands out, they scuttled across a small bridge to the darkened building. As they got closer, they could see that it was not a home but a commercial building. Boarded up windows and doors spoke of disuse and abandonment. A sign hung that read "Parson and Sons Throop Flour Mill."

With some small measure of relief, Minerva deftly removed the boards barring entry into a door at the rear of the building. Inside they found dusty equipment that spoke well of a mill of some prosperity in its time. Minerva set up some wards inside and outside of the building to alert her of encroaching people. Irma transfigured two antique chairs into cots and set a small light flickering in a small lantern on a work table.

Irma scavenged inside her large purse for anything edible. Half of a raspberry bun was halved again. "It's not a feast but it will do."

Minerva climbed down the stairs from the second floor. She held a burlap sack in one hand. "The mill is completely empty. We should be safe here until morning. I know where we are." Minerva unfurled the sack on the table and said the words out loud. "Parsons Mill, Throop - Dorset."

"Dorset. We could hardly get farther from Scotland and still be on English soil." Irma nibbled on her bun. She laid open her notebook and began to write the stanzas from memory.

Minerva looked over and added what she could. The three stanzas translated to:

 

_Let not wisdom fail at Rivers End,_

_O'er dark and light, see true._

_Brother Sion do thy duty well._

 

_Let not Baphomet cross the path_

_O'er fear and valor, feel true._

_Brother Sion do thy duty well._

 

_Let not her wending stray and darken_

_O'er chance and fate, be true._

_Brother Sion do thy duty well._

 

“It's like an instruction and a warning put together." Irma said. "Sion is synonymous with the city of Jerusalem. Brother Jerusalem? Or is Sion used as a last name?"

"It could mean brother as in a monastic order and Sion indicates that it's a religious order of some kind. Perhaps, it's a title of respect." Minerva thought out loud. "While Jerusalem is a possible link to the Templars, there is nothing druidic or Celtic in this message unlike the earlier piece. What or who is Baphomet?"

'I believe it's a bastardization of Mohammed who is also known as Mahomet. I don't know anything else beyond that. Is Juliana buried in Jerusalem?"

"That trip would go beyond our 4 day, now 3 day limit." Minerva smiled then turned quite serious. "Irma, remember the lines from the first message about hands of protection and portals of death?"

"Yes."

“I think the portals were referring to port keys. We know what hands of protection mean. This second message makes it very clear to me that the way is guarded by sentinels of a sort. Sentinels that have kept watch, done their duty, through many centuries.

"You sound worried, Minerva."

"Uneasy. Before today I took the words "portals of death" to be allegorical but I find that I am of a vastly different opinion now."

"We were aware of possible dangers, Minerva."

"Dangers, yes, but not ... not lethality. I think these sentinels can be very deadly. The words portals of death is no allegory." Minerva paced back and forth. "The effort of maintaining secrecy is obvious and given the length of time, I can only surmise that the sentinels will do anything to maintain that secrecy."

"Including killing anyone who poses a danger," Irma said quietly.

Minerva nodded. "This adventure of ours has a sense of layers to it. It is as if we are seeing only a part of the larger plan."

"I agree. I will also say that it seems we are following a very carefully crafted path."

"Yes, exactly. Whomever made this plan had a definite purpose. Given Albus' own misgivings about this quest and now my own I cannot help but question whether we are doing the right thing."

"Now of that I am quite sure that we are doing the right thing." Irma smiled broadly. "I had said that I could put a time period to spells and charms via comparison. Well, I can also tell who cast the spell or charm if I had some familiarity with other charms and spells done by that person. I was confused earlier about what I was sensing from the second message."

"And you are no longer confused?" Minerva looked at Irma intently.

"The second message was charmed by none other than Godric Gryffindor."

"What!? You cannot be serious."

"Deadly serious. I know all the founders' signature styles having studied their bequests and objects all these years. The signature on the message is the same as that on the Sword of Gryffindor. I know that message was done by Godric. I don't know how or why but that message was his as good as if he had written it on parchment."

"You said late 1300s and Godric died in ... wait, wait ... a time turner. The baron's time turner. Godric went forward in time." Minerva said.

"Can we presume by this that the founders had a hand in devising the sentinels guarding Juliana?"

"Yes." Minerva yawned and sat on her cot. Irma extinguished the lantern light. "How I wish I had the Baron to question right now."

"I'm wishing for a library. I'm itching for some research."

"All right. We'll look for a library tomorrow."

Irma fluffed her pillow. "Minerva, do you think we ought to send word to Albus on our progress tomorrow?"

"Albus is an executive. He may not appreciate the details."

"Details like the portals of death, the sentinels, the fact that a primitive port key drained us of enough magical energy to make us pass out or that we know not where we truly are."

"He would worry."

"And probably come after us."

"That is one complication we do not need." Minerva turned over. "Good night, Irma."

"Tomorrow is another day. Good night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Throop Mill is real and is now a museum.


	15. Christchurch

If Throop Mill lacked inhabitants it was not lacking for neighbors as Minerva and Irma discovered when they awoke. Outside, nature was generous from the white swans drifting through the reeds to the tit marshes, robins and finches that flitted about and sang in the trees. Floating over descending gushing waters, hardy mallards paddled fearlessly through the long-rusted turbines arranged in a horizontal row across the river. This pleasant nature-filled morning was a well-deserved antidote to the dramatic happenings of the night before.

Standing on the rough deck in the mill's rear overlooking the river, the two witches felt refreshed despite their late night. Minerva transfigured two rotting wood barrels into serviceable chairs.

"I dreamt of my comfortable rooms at Hogwarts last night, a toasty coverlet, inviting pillows, a warm fire," Irma mused stretching her arms out and releasing a single long yawn.

"Is that an oblique way of saying that we're too old for adventuring?" Minerva crouched on the deck running a hand into the water testing temperature and speed of flow. In the full glare of daylight, her eyes scanned the river bank, the running river and the surrounding forests missing little.

"Not at all. However, I have learned my lesson. I assure you that in future my purse shall be well-stocked with creature comforts." Irma laid out her notebook on her lap, opened to a blank page and began to write.

Minerva stood up arching her back working some kinks out. "Some basic supplies may be advantageous."

"Perhaps we shall find ourselves in Ireland before this quest is completed. We must buy tea at least and maybe biscuits for emergency rations." Irma duly added said items to her list.

Minerva looked up at the sun not quite at its zenith yet but midway in the sky. "Midmorning already. We overslept but no help for that I suppose. How are you feeling?"

"I need coffee then I can tell you how I feel. You're looking quite energetic on very few hours of sleep. How do you manage? I feel wrecked."

"Practice, Irma. My house seems to attract the mischief makers. Interrupted evenings and unexpected emergencies in the night are almost routine." Minerva sat down in a chair and looked out over the river.

"Where do the children get the energy from?"

Minerva laughed then sobered. "I was thinking of our progress last night. I know I said that I was worried but now I am less so. What we're doing feels right. I can't explain why. It simply does. I feel like a marionette on a string being led across a stage. A little hesitant but still taking every step.“

"Hmm, yes, I'm terrified I admit but eager just the same." Irma turned her book to the page where she had written the translation. "Shall we plan our next move?"

They quickly read the translation. Neither had any corrections to make.

 

_Let not wisdom fail at Rivers End,_

_O'er dark and light, see true._

_Brother Sion do thy duty well._

 

_Let not Baphomet cross the path_

_O'er fear and valor, feel true._

_Brother Sion do thy duty well._

 

_Let not her wending stray and darken_

_O'er chance and fate, be true._

_Brother Sion do thy duty well._

 

"The first mentions or points to a location. A location that we must be at or close to." Minerva gestured to the river. "How convenient that we appeared close to one."

"The quest cannot be made impossible, can it?"

"No, not impossible merely difficult, very difficult. We will follow this river until it ends or joins another. I believe I spied a city or town to the south lying by the river." She pointed at the translation. "Brother Sion has to be important to be mentioned as often as he is. To me, Brother Sion suggests a person, a monk, a monastery, a religion, a Templar, a man not a female. We need to look for appropriate associations."

"Dark and light, fear and valor, chance and fate," Irma said softly. "Two sides. A positive and a negative. True or false. And Baphomet is the reverse of Mohammed - the negative version - as in the destroyers of fate against the wielders of light."

"And Brother Sion is the sentinel we must pass,” Minerva concluded.

After erasing any sign of their presence from the mill, the two witches disillusioned themselves and took to the skies cloaks flapping wildly behind them. As they streaked towards the southern city mirroring the river's flow, they took careful note of the landscape passing below them. A passing sign gave them the name of the river: Stour.

Minerva pointed to the distance. “Look there, to the east, another river. And further along they join."

Irma nodded. "They would have to have used clues that would not change over time. Geographic landmarks are rather permanent."

Minerva rose upward a few meters to gain a wider vantage point. "Lo and behold, the rivers do end in a city."

* * *

With renewed energy and purpose, they increased their speed till the winds roared in their ears. Signs of habitation grew more obvious as they neared the river's end. As they approached the city, the landmark foremost in their sight was the tall bell tower of a magnificent Norman church. They alighted in a narrow alleyway not far from the church. They changed their clothing to nondescript blouses, skirts and overcoats. As they got closer to the church they spied the sign. It read "Christchurch Priory Church."

"House of worship, monastery and priory are synonymous." Minerva studied the entrance plaque. "They open at half past nine o'clock."

"Good. We have enough time for breakfast and coffee. And I believe, yes, I've spotted a shop over there." Without waiting for reply Irma crossed the wide church square and down into narrow Church Street.

They entered the Priory 17 cafe restaurant which fortunate for them did indeed have a breakfast service. Minerva ordered smoked salmon on a muffin with cream cheese and tea. Irma ordered a very large meal - two rashers of bacon, two sausages, two eggs, baked beans, mushrooms, hash browns, granary toast and a carafe of coffee.

At Minerva's incredulous look, Irma said sotto voce, "Supplies, Minerva, for later. If things prove to form, we will not have another restful meal today."

Minerva smiled. "Excellent thinking. That should serve even if we end up in Ireland."

Their waiter Teddy settled a carafe of coffee on the table. "Morning, ladies, from where would you be visiting from?"

"Are we that obvious?" Irma asked.

"Well, you're not one of my regulars. That much I know. You would hail from …?"

"Scotland," answered Minerva.

"Ah, are you Templar scholars?" asked Teddy.

Irma looked at Teddy closely. "Why do you say that?"

"We get a fair amount of Templar scholars coming here from Roslyn Chapel. They hear about our knight you see."

"Your knight?"

"Oh, yes, Sir Stephen, the last true Templar in Britain." Teddy poured hot tea into Minerva's cup. "His remains were found in the priory church some years back and his gravestone is on display in the church museum."

 

* * *

Unfortunately, Teddy could not provide further information about the Templar. After devouring breakfast, Irma and Minerva practically ran back to Christchurch. At the church entrance they were met by a gaunt but cheerful volunteer named Simon. Being informed of their interest in Sir Stephen, Simon guided them to the museum situated in the upper loft talking all the while.

"The gravestone of our Templar, namely one Sir Stephen de Stapelbrugge, is situated in the Priory Loft. The loft was once the Lady's Chapel and, very mysteriously, it was not available for use by the clergy. It's true purpose has been lost historically." Simon gestured the ladies to precede him up the spiral staircase.

"You're very well versed, Simon,” Irma said.

"We do our best to meet the research needs of scholars and visitors here at Christchurch."

"We shall keep that in mind, Simon." Minerva replied. The attention she spared to Simon was inversely proportional to the attention she was receiving from him. With sure-footed grace, Minerva ascended the steps as they wound their way upward.

"Do you have further plans for other sites to visit?" asked Simon.

"Our plans are rather fluid.” Irma breathed deeply a few times to stave off an attack of vertigo the higher she climbed on the heels of Minerva's rapid ascent.

"I am entirely at your disposal if you should need a guide to the area I mean."

"How … how very thoughtful of you."

"Few tourists ascend the stairs as surely and fearlessly as you do, Minerva." Getting no response, Simon cleared his throat loudly. "Seventy-five steps in all. I suppose then that you must be quite fit."

"Quite," Minerva replied reaching the topmost step.

"If I may ask, what other sites had you in mind to visit?"

"We're not at all familiar with the area,” Irma murmured.

Simon announced with a smile, "Then I'm your man!"

"We would not want to impose,” said Minerva.

Simon led them directly to the opposite side of the loft. "The grave slab was found in the crypts underneath Christchurch. Research led to its matching to a tomb in the south wall. The south wall cemetery is the oldest in the area dating as far as the 12th century and was designated for monks and clergy for the most part. The tomb was excavated and the results were rather startling."

"How so?" Minerva looked at him with genuine interest.

Simon smiled back. "The skeleton in the matching tomb was not what one would expect of a monk. It was of a man over six feet tall with a broad, muscular build. More a warrior than a man of the cloth."

"A Templar knight?" Irma asked. "But were not all Templars rounded up in 1307 by decree no less?"

"Yes, that was decreed by King Philip of France along with forfeiture to the crown of all Templar assets in France. The Templars scattered. One of the last places they were rumored to be were here and in Roslyn." Simon stopped by a long shelf upon which lay a gravestone with an incised cross upon it. "This slab is believed to be engraved with the mark of Sir Stephen."

As Simon continued to speak, Irma and Minerva studied the slab and the faint but still legible engravings on its surface.

"Sir Stephen arrived here in 1319 nearly twelve years after the dissolution of the Templar order. His very survival of the purge is astonishing. Templars were labelled and judged as heretics and put to death by fire or sword. Sir Stephen was arrested in 1311 and was sent to serve in a St. Augustinian priory in Surrey. Two years later he escaped with another Templar and was recaptured in Salisbury resulting in another five years incarceration."

"How then did Sir Stephen come to be buried here?" Minerva sharp eyes found a familiar shape in the slab - seven concentric circles similar to the circles of Achnabrek. A sidelong glance at Irma confirmed that she had seen it too.

Simon droned on. "By 1312 a new Pope, Clement, came to power. He formally dissolved the Templar order but did not believe in its guilt. Any surviving Templars were jailed but no longer subject to inquisitorial torture. In 1318, Pope John XXII decreed that all Templars be given a choice of order to enter into be it as brother monks or staff lodgers. Sir Stephen was ordained an Augustinian novice at Braemore Priory in 1319 and then moved here. "

"Was that very usual? To be ordained in one place and then transferred?" Minerva asked.

"Not at all. We have deduced that in Sir Stephen's case his ordination was probably done in its manner to avoid publicity. Christchurch was even then a very visible priory. Perhaps the induction of Templar was deemed unfit for so public a place."

"But if the order was dissolved of what importance could there have been?" Irma asked.

"Based on research, we believe that Sir Stephen was a form of kept witness. He was quite young for a Templar having been ordained while still a child. Another unusual item in his personal history. And it would seem that he was aware of or witness to Templar business of interest to the King. His survival on the run from 1311 to 1313 hint at resourcefulness and means. Though born in France, his paternal family hailed from this area and he had relatives in positions of authority in the Church."

Minerva noted, "Sir Stephen seems to have lived an interesting if mysterious life."

Before he could respond, Simon was waylaid by another curator and excused himself.

Minerva whispered. "Take a closer look at that slab while I distract Simon."

"That should not be too hard, Minerva. He's got his eye on you."

Minerva rolled her eyes heavenward. "You have an overactive imagination."

"He seems a good conversationalist. Very charming in a quiet intellectual way."

"Desist this line of conjecture." Minerva glared at her companion.

"You match well enough. Him being a few inches taller and slender."

"Immediately!" Minerva pursed her lips. "He's hardly my ... my type."

Her curiosity piqued, Irma asked a rather daring question. "And what or who is your type, if I may ask."

"You may not. Go on and look at that slab will you." Minerva bustled off to Simon and made to guide him to the opposite side of the loft.

Mentally, Irma filed away the few new tidbits of information about Minerva that had just landed in her figurative lap. The head of Gryffindor had inadvertently answered the question. She had not indicated any specific person but her indirect response was not an outright denial either. Minerva had a definite type. Irma, though she was not wont to gossip overmuch, was aware of the faculty speculations about Minerva's personal life or rather the vagueness of said personal life. Minerva was not a social hermit but no one on staff had ever known her to have a serious beau. Was that because there was no one or rather that there was no one Minerva cared to name?

After one last look to make sure that Simon was too far away to see what she was doing, Irma cast a reveal spell on the slab starting at the top of the slab and moving downward. She reached the middle and the Achnabreck-like symbol glowed red once. An audible hum filled her ears like the buzzing of bees.

Standing by the display of Augustinian robes, Minerva plied Simon with leading questions. Her sensitive hearing picked up on the humming and her eyes swiveled towards Irma. She was turning to return to the slab when all the lights blinked off. In the shadowy dimness, Minerva saw Irma collapse to the floor like a rag doll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the Christchurch Priory site for more information on Sir Stephen.


	16. Protecting the Way

Dawn's light crawled across the Hogwarts grounds chivying away the night's shadowy remains. In the vast forest, the morning creatures greeted the day each in their own way.  In his office, a powerful wizard opened his eyes from a sleep he did not remember falling into. Still in his chair, Albus blinked and rubbed his face. His phoenix Fawkes chirped a morning greeting from his perch.

"Will it be a good morning, Fawkes. I have  grave doubts of that." Pain shot up Albus' spine as he straightened his back.  "Why did you not awaken me? I shall now be sore for the rest of the day."

Fawkes cawed and cocked his head.  

"Yes, it is my fault entirely for staying awake far too late."  Albus held up one of Rowena's orb with a ribbon and tag affixed to it.  "Look here.  I have managed to label the orbs as I've listened to them. It may not be the best cataloging method but I do believe Minerva will think it clever." 

Thinking of Minerva, his eyes drifted to the pendant about the phoenix's neck. He had not wanted her to go but he understood her reasoning.  How could he have expressed his unease, the instinctive fear that he felt for there was both a rightness and a wrongness about it all. A part of him was compelled to seek out the meaning of the prophecy yet another part desired only to desist from any action and interference. This prophecy may yet unfold centuries into the future. Would their actions at this time and timeline cause more harm than good? And yet what about the Baron and his very disturbing resurrection?

"Everything happens for a reason." Albus sighed. He looked inside the chest of orbs. There were still a good three dozen left inside unheard and unlabelled. Some of the answers lay in them of that he was convinced. They were the crumbs left in a maze and he had to follow them wherever they may lead.  

"Fortunately, this maze does not have a  minotaur for a guardian, eh, Fawkes."  Albus took one orb out and studied it. "One reading before breakfast I think."

With one tap of the headmaster's wand, the orb began to glow.

 

* * *

Rowena Ravenclaw’s voice was very faint. Her every breath was labored. "Do not fret so, Salazar. They shall see reason. They must."

A man's voice said "When, Rowena?  When the last star leaves the heavens? They will not yield no matter what I say."

"Godric and Helga lead with their hearts. Long have we two known of this." Rowena sighed.

"What I did was out of necessity nothing more. I see no cause for regret, apologies or recriminations."

"Their objections are ... are valid nonetheless," Rowena replied. "But what is done is done. In time, they will -"

"There is no more time, Rowena!" Salazar's voice became strained. "Using the desk was the most efficient AND expedient decision. None of us are immortal. How else could we assure full protection for the Way? At the very least, I may rest knowing that should the future falter, our purpose shall reveal itself spurring our successors to action."

"To reflection first I hope. I trust the clues shall present themselves as appropriate," said Rowena.

"If they believe, then, yes, they will find the Way before them. Whether they will follow the Light or not, I know not," said Salazar.

"What kind of man was Sauvignon? Was he a true seer?" 

"He reminds me of you in all ways. Between Godric and I we have all of Sauvignon's riddles. Are they untrue to you?"

There was a short silence before Rowena responded. "I have not read them."

Salazar yelped. "Why not? How are we now to know which are important and which are not?"

"Is it very difficult to discern? As you say, he was similar to me. You have studied my visions after all."

There were heavy footfalls pacing on a wooden floor. "Twenty-four scrolls of riddles! They mention mazes, battles, headless skulls, tombs, serpents, the undead, the unfree and phoenixes. One entire scroll waxes poetic about a cat."

"At need a cat can roar as loud as a lion."

Salazar let out a soft laugh. "Two dozen cats could be useful but one cat alone? I think not."

"Yet you have taken much upon yourself. We four are here for the same purpose. Four individuals may accomplish more ... more than one."

"What have we done, Rowena, answer me that! What difference have we made?!"

"We have made a start. From small things will come the great and the good."

Salazar exhaled and his next words were calmer. "I am sorry, Rowena. My frustration is misplaced. I should not be tiring you with trivial-"

"I do not believe they are trivial concerns. I never have," said Rowena. "For my part, I admire your initiative and courage."

"Thank you, Rowena."

"Whilst I have your attention, I have a ... a request of you, my devoted friend."

"Anything within my power is yours. What would you have me do, my Lady Ravenclaw?"

"I ask that you cease your investigation of the Destroyers of Destiny."

"The little we know is sufficient reason to continue. On this matter Godric and I are in full, rare agreement."

"No further information will be offered to us nor coerced from them. Do not waste your time and-" Rowena gasped then groaned in pain. "The ... the potion ..."

Albus heard the tinkling of glass and the swish of liquid.

"I will begin brewing a stronger dose this evening."

"It will not be long now," said Rowena. "Best use your time to complete your ... your private mission."

Salazar began to say, "I do not have a-"

"You need not worry for your legacy. It shall not be forgotten ere long our school stands."

"Hmm, a hundred year legacy is no small thing."

"A thousand and more to come." Rowena's voice hardened. "Our kind shall never forget thee, my lord. Never. You will be legend."

Salazar clapped his hands together. "Ah, that my labors will not be in vain. True blood magic will win out. We will only grow in number and strength over time. You have seen this? Or is it a prophecy that may yet be? May you reveal to me, please."

Rowena whispered, "It is only truth."

There was a sound like a kiss on a palm. "I shall redouble my efforts, Rowena. I shall do all I may to inspire my students to greatness. There shall be no cause to regret my part in this our noble endeavor. My word as Slytherin, my lady."

 

* * *

The orb dimmed. Previously listening in rapt silence, the pictures on the walls fairly shook as many voiced their shock and dismay.

"By Merlin, he did nothing by half, did he?"

"Albus, destroy the desk! Its evil cannot continue!"

"How could she tell him? It only motivated him to create the Chamber of Secrets."

"By Merlin, what ... what is this new catastrophe that must be averted?"

"The Destroyers must be found!"

"The desk knows more. It must be consulted but I fear the attempt shall be costly."

"The Fates have touched us again! What are we to do?"

Albus silenced them all. "Enough!" He began to issue orders to various portraits.

Armando Dippet asked, "What of the desk, Albus? It cannot be ignored."

"I shall attend to it personally," said Albus.

"Nay! Your emissary must be one of us - a portrait. The accursed thing will find little to crave or possess from us," said Dilys Derwent.

Armando stroked his long beard. "That is wise counsel, Dilys. We know little of its nature. Much care must be made."

"Do we even know if it will interact with a portrait?" asked Phineas Nigellus. "It cannot speak. How may it communicate with us?"

"We must find a way," insisted Dilys. "No living being ought face temptation of such magnitude."

"Headmaster, I would like to ... volunteer my services as your ... assistant in this venture," said Phineas.

All the portraits turned to stare at Phineas in amazement. A Slytherin volunteering? Unheard of.

Phineas cleared his throat. "Salazar Slytherin performed a great service harnessing the power of the desk. Only another Slytherin may unravel the terms of that service."

"Service? More a curse upon our school," said Lucretia.

"I accept your offer, Phineas. I require that you secure and review all the research we have on the desk. Glean as much detail as you can from the Baron," ordered Albus.

"You intend to use it then?" asked Dexter Fortescue adjusting his ear trumpet. He did not want to miss a word.

"It is obvious that the founders took it upon themselves to repair the damage done by the Baron's actions through time. It is equally obvious that they depend on the future, on us, to continue to protect the line of Isabel Parnam," said Albus. "Is the Baron's resurrection a result of the actions of the Destroyers or due to another event that we know nothing about? What actions are we allowed to do? How much do we dare to change or affect?"

Albus closed the lid of the chest of orbs. He eyed the pendant. Knowing Minerva was in no danger settled the tumult in his mind. "Well, one less thing to worry about. Good. We shall listen to more of Rowena's orbs later."

He left his office heading for breakfast and a busy day of classes. As soon as the office door closed, the portraits began to talk among themselves.

"Armando, do all you can to dissuade Albus from using the desk," said Dilys.

"I didn't hear him say he would," Fortescue said. "Has my hearing gone?"

"The desk is a means to an end," said Phineas. "I doubt that it would ask for Albus' soul. Remember, it grants wishes and needs. The cost results not from the desk's demands but from the individual's actions. Predict the outcomes and consequences as best you can prior to its deployment. Premeditation is key."

Lucretia yelled, "You cannot be defending that abomination!"

"I sense Albus is not predisposed to have anything to do with it," said Dippet. "We can rest easy on-"

"Rest? You are deluded!" railed Dilys.

"I trust Albus to see to the school's welfare before any ancient prophecy," said Dippet. "There is nothing more important to him than Hogwarts."

"We all know what could drive Albus to impractical, impulsive, even dangerous action. If we know it, so does that desk," said Dilys. "That thing could bring a goblin to its knees."

Phyllida Spore spoke, "We are basing our emotions on suppositions not facts. We require more information. It worries me that we collectively know so little about so dangerous an object. I urge everyone to heed well Rowena's revelations to come. I feel sure there is more left unsaid."

"I agree. Caution must be our first instinct," said Declan tapping his staff multiple times.

"What? What did you say?" asked Fortescue.

 

* * *

_Christchurch Priory Church_

Eyes fluttered. Fingers twitched. Irma stirred on the floor. "Really should look into classes ... for ... for witch fitness."

Minerva bent over the other witch. "Are you all right? Irma?"

"This is my last adventure. Do you hear me?" Irma clutched her notebook to her chest.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

“No. I’m fine.” Irma whispered urgently, "We have to get out of here. Need to rest before tonight."

Simon and Minerva helped Irma to her feet and down the spiral staircase. It took fifteen minutes of persuasion but Simon was convinced that there was no need to send for an ambulance. The witches took to chairs outside the priory cafe to rest and recover.

Irma pulled out her notebook and began to flip through pages. She spoke softly, "How are you at elemental summoning?"

Minerva kept her eyes on the grassy landscape. "Rusty. Very. On par with my divination skills."

"Nonexistent then," said Irma.

“What is this about tonight?"

Irma stopped at a page and read it intently. "Can we get a room? I feel that we will need all our strength and wits about us later."

"All right. There must be an inn close by," replied Minerva. "What are we preparing for exactly?"

"We have a date at midnight," declared Irma. "I felt a presence. Then I began writing furiously. Except, I wasn’t conscious of doing so.“

Irma passed her notebook to Minerva. These words filled the page:

_My name is Stephen, a once and future knight.If you are of my kin, attend my Vigil in faith.Deceivers, beware your end._


	17. Cloak and Dagger

Kings Arms Inn, Christchurch

The witches began preparations to meet Sir Stephen. Dressed in denim jeans and dark hoodies over tee shirts, they could pass for muggles any where in the world.

“There are bound to be alarms and such on the front doors. We shouldn’t chance that,” said Minerva.

“Then how do we get inside?”

“We shall be doing a straightforward maneuver called breaking and entering,” said Minerva. She tucked her bun under a brown beanie. “I’m not worried about getting in. I’m concerned about leaving. Will there another port key do you think?”

“Anything is possible.” Irma was looking at the navy blue beanie hat in her hand. “Do I really need a hat? I have this a hood on this … this …”

“Hooded sweatshirt. Yes, wear the hat. It’s warmth, protection and camouflage in one.”

“Very well. How exactly are we getting in?” Irma put the hat on. She looked at her reflection in the closet mirror.

“We shall make ingress at a point that I’m confident has no alarms on it.”Minerva shrank her clothes and put them into her satchel.

“I look like a … a cat burglar,” said Irma. “Like in those old muggle movies on the late wireless channels. Are jeans supposed to be so … so fitted. You can see the shape of my legs.”

“Too loose pant legs can be troublesome, especially on brooms. Besides trousers are more practical than dresses and skirts. Who knows what we’ll find inside. Best that we can move quickly if we have to.” Minerva looked out the window. It was still too light outside. They would have to wait. She put their brooms by the fireplace ready for use. “Once we finish with Sir Stephen, we head back to Hogwarts. It will take us several hours to get there.”

“It’s a long way. Couldn’t we stop at Diagon Alley and take a floo trip from there?”

“No one outside Hogwarts knows we’ve left. What if we meet someone we know or knows us on sight?”

“Quite. How could we explain being on a quest of enormous importance but we simply don’t know why,” said Irma.

Minerva handed Irma a pair of thin driving gloves. Irma put them on without a murmur.

“Cloak and dagger time, yes, all right,” said Irma.

“You are holding up well, Irma. Being out of the library suits you,” noted Minerva.

“You mean less curt and fussy? I can stretch my wings as it were for the first time,” said Irma. “This is my one and only great adventure. I mean to enjoy it to the hilt. It’s a good thing I have an excellent guide.”

Minerva laughed. “We must sometime remind ourselves that we are more than teachers and librarians.”

“Well, you do seem far too comfortable with all this. Have you, um, burgled before, Minerva?”

“Tombs mostly.”

“Excuse me, did you say tombs?”

“It’s not in my professional biography is it? It was before I came to Hogwarts to teach. Before I knew Albus.”

“And?”

“I managed some excavations while doing research into ancient Egyptian magic,” said Minerva. “Albus came to one of my camps and recruited me to become a teacher.”

“And?”

“Obviously, he succeeded.”

“And?”

“What more is there to say?”

“Egypt. Ancient magic. Adventure!” said Irma. “You turned your back on that to teach in Scotland? Forgive me, Minerva, but I cannot believe it was a fair trade.”

“On paper, I suppose, it makes little sense,” admitted Minerva. “My engagement had ended. I was looking for a change. I found it at Hogwarts. To be frank, I didn’t think at the time that I would stay for as long as I have. Here I am still with little will to leave.” She glanced at a wall clock and then out the window. “It’s dark enough. Let’s go meet our date.”

* * *

Christchurch Priory

They hovered just above the roofline alongside the bell tower making sure to stay out of the spotlight’s glare. Minerva cast a spell opening one of the tower shutters. A second spell enlarged the opening.

Balancing herself on the window, Minerva cast another spell, “Lumos.”

She whispered to Irma, “It’s a ways down. Balance on this sill and cast a levitation spell to slowly come down. Watch how you go. There are twelve bells in here.”

Minerva shrunk her broom and put it away. She touched her wand to her body and said, “Nantia Corpore. Lumos.”

With her wand end alight, Minerva slowly floated down to the floor. She watched Irma do the same. Once Irma was down safe, Minerva restored the shutter and opening to normal.

“Stay here, Irma. Let me look around first. I’ll come back for you.” Minerva put down her satchel and wand then transformed into her animagi form.

Irma opened the tower door. “Alohamora.”

On cat feet, Minerva padded through the door. She jogged down the steps to a landing where she observed the nave. Seeing and hearing no one about, she returned to Irma.

With her wand alight, Irma followed Minerva as they made their way to the chapel on the east side of the priory. They reached the door to the loft stairs. Minerva transformed back and got her satchel from Irma.

“Up we go,” said Minerva beginning to ascend the narrow spiral staircase to the loft.

Irma took the same position as she had when Sir Stephen first made contact with her. “Vigil in Church terms means at or near midnight. “What time do you have?”

Minerva looked at her watch. “Quarter to midnight.” She hunted through her satchel and removed an item. Once enlarged, it turned out to be a lantern. At Irma’s curious look, Minerva explained, “Battery-powered lantern. Leaves our wands free for other uses. Should we try a summoning? I can’t remember a summoning spell at all.”

“Neither can I. He made the first overture. Let’s wait and see if he does again.” She put her notebook in front of her and her pen in her hand.

A light breezebrushed across them followed by a bone-deep chill.

“Right on time,” said Irma.

Glowing gold lines appeared on the grave slab’s rough surface in old English script.

_Art thou believers?_

Irma lit her wand tip with a lumos spell. Focusing her magic through her hand, she used her wand to write “Yes” on the slab.

_Whose charge do you bear?_

The witches looked at each other stumped. They mouthed the question a few times.

Experimentally, Irma wrote “Albus Dumbledore.”

The question turned a vivid green. Her words disappeared letter by letter.

“I don’t think it liked that answer,” said Irma.

“Try Godric,” suggested Minerva.

Irma wrote “Godric Gryffindor.”

The next question appeared in gold: _What do you seek?_

Minerva stayed Irma’s hand. “Think of the poems that has led us here. Put down wending way.”

Irma wrote “Wending Way.”

The question turned green.

“Oh dear,” said Irma.

“Try HER wending way,” said Minerva.

Irma changed the wording. The question disappeared to be replaced by another in fiery red: _Why do you seek the Way?_

“I have it,” said Irma. She wrote “To do our duty.”

The words disappeared. The room became dim again. The lantern’s weak glow the only illumination.

In the far corner of the loft, twinkling spots of light coalesced into one tall column of pale blue.It began to move towards the witches.


	18. To Meet a Templar

Minerva shielded her eyes with one hand. She grasped her wand with her other hand. It was pointed at the column.

“Welcome, brothers in truth.” It was no wispy ghostly voice. It was clear, strong and full of vigor.

A foot from them the column shimmered. A singular form became discernible. A head then a sturdy body followed by long legs. The ghostly essence of Sir Stephen stood before them dressed in a red medieval tunic with a coarse black collar over chain mail. Heavy boots shod his feet.His long face was balanced by a receding hairline over a broad forehead and a trim gray beard.

His expression was probing and curious. “Sisters, I should say. Felicitations are in order for few pass the portal guardian.” He bowed then smiled. “Good company is rare.” His smile fell. “But you would not attend without reason. May I ask who my guests are this night?”

“Irma Pince,” said Irma.

“Minerva McGonagall,” said Minerva. “Are you Sir Stephen de Stapelbrugge, a brother monk and former Templar?”

“I am forever a part of Sion. No idle whims of greedy kings and jealous clerics shall change that,” bristled Sir Stephen. “Forgive my ire, gentle sisters. I fear the sting of betrayal shall never be eased.” He sighed. “I forget my own duty. In what way may this Sentinel help you?”

“Of that we are uncertain,” said Minerva. “If we tell you how we came to be here, perhaps it shall help you with … with your duty.”

“That is sound. Proceed.”

Between Minerva and Irma, they told Sir Stephen about the baron, Kilmartin, Achnabreck, the mill and finally Christchurch. The knight listened patiently asking no questions.

“We must rely on you to tell us what to do now,” said Irma.

“Has your seer not warned you of what is to come?” asked the knight.”I was told that the gift of the seeing eye shall overshadow our cause. It does so to give aid and warning to protectors and friends.”

Minerva struggled with the words to describe Hogwarts’ divination teacher Sybill Trelawney. “Our seer is … is … is … untried in these matters. She is … is … overwhelmingly … um, overwhelmed.”

“Wouldn’t the baron’s resurrection be some kind of warning?” asked Irma. “In lieu of having a seer’s warning, I mean.”

Sir Stephen nodded. “Verily. The Way is not free. I can sense a halting in some part. There must an obstacle be.”

“What kind of obstacle?”

“I know not but …” Sir Stephen tapped his chin and looked lost in thought. He began to talk out loud.“The severed path must be found. What is severed may be restored.”

Minerva and Irma remained silent but listening intently.

“The danger of the Gates, no, I may not send women. It may not lead to the Gates. It may change its mind faced with delicate sensibilities,” said Sir Stephen. “T’would be best to have strong men at the Gates. Is there another path?”

Irma began writing hurriedly on her journal recording what was spoken. Beside her, Minerva bit her tongue not wanting to gainsay the knight in his rambling monologue on the weakness of women.

“What good are the Gates if you have no purpose? Not the Gates,” murmured Sir Stephen. “I have it!”

“What do you have, Sir Stephen?” asked Minerva.

“Into my charge was given the knowledge of certain gifts. One of them is called Rowena’s Gift. It is said to show visions.”

“Visions of what?”

“Visions of the Wending,” said the knight in tones that implied that was all they needed to know. “If the Way is troubled as it seems to be at this time … what year of our Lord is this?”

“Nineteen eighty-one,” provided Irma.

Sir Stephen’s eyes widened. “I was brought here in 1319 to serve my so-called penance in the Priory. It has been a long time indeed.”

“Do you not inhabit this church?”

“No, my sister. I come at the summons of the guardian, here or elsewhere across time.” He closed his eyes and began to recite something from memory. “Rowena’s gift may be found in Baile Meadhonach guarded by the Stones of Wonder. It lays within the Chambered Cairn. The gift shall seek out the blood of the seer true.”

Irma’s lips moved reading her notes. “Chambered cairns … meadhonach …baile is Gaelic …” Her voice rose in excitement. “Minerva, I know this place. It’s Ballymeanoch. I don’t know about stones of wonder but I remember reading about chambered cairns at this site.”

“It’s still there? Today?” asked Minerva.

“Yes. It’s a … a protected site like a … a henge,” said Irma.

“I’ve never heard of it. Where is it?”

Irma grinned. “Just outside Kilmartin.”

“At least it’s on our way back,” said Minerva.

“We have to go home first. Don’t you see?”

“I only see that we have this one day left. This is Day 4,” said Minerva. “We can find this gift and then head for Hogwarts.”

“I quote ‘the gift shall seek out the blood of the seer true’. Neither of us is a seer, Minerva.”

The blood drained from Minerva’s face. “You can’t be serious. You mean that … that we … have to … have to …”

“I think we do,” said Irma. “Fate is a cruel mistress.”

Sir Stephen could see Minerva’s reaction. “My sister, are thee well?”

“I’m fine, Sir Stephen, I had a momentary lapse of rationality,” replied Minerva. “We have many questions about our charge. May I ask if we are allowed to ask other questions?”

The knight nodded. “Ask. I shall answer what I may. It has been long ‘ere I have had company. It shall be good to talk.”

The witches made themselves more comfortable sitting on the floor anticipating a long conversation.

“Is our mission to find Juliana Pendry?” asked Minerva.

“Your charge is to assure her bloodline continues. You may or may not find her,” answered Sir Stephen.

“I think that’s as clear an answer as we shall get. Move on, Minerva,” said Irma.

“I wanted to make sure,” said Minerva. “We are the Wielders of Light. Who are the Destroyers of Destiny?”

“They are those who wish our kind ill. They wish to destroy all of us who hold magic and wonder within us.”

“So, people without magic like muggles?” asked Irma.

“The Destroyers have within their ranks the human and the inhuman. Do not judge on magic or blood alone,” said the knight.

“Inhuman as in magical creatures like giants, goblins and elves?”

Sir Stephen nodded. “And creatures of the hoof and of the earth, air and water.”

“Are we the only protectors who know of this?” asked Minerva

“In this time, yes.”

“Are there more of these Destroyers than ourselves?” asked Irma.

“Legion to our number.”

Irma’s breath caught in her chest. “As there are … are more Destroyers than Wielders of Light, how could we possibly prevail?”

“It is not a matter of victory but survival. The few can survive as well as the many,” said Sir Stephen. “The Strands are fragile. The slightest move can change the fate of many. We must only keep the Way free until the line is assured.”

“How will we recognize that end?” asked Minerva.

“As told to me by Godric, a hat would see the line clearly,” said the knight. “How such a one can accomplish this feat, I know not.”

The witches looked at each other with twin expressions of dawning comprehension. The Sorting Hat would tell them when the descendant was found.

“Well, that makes things somewhat easier. I shan’t worry about that,” said Minerva. “How dangerous are these Destroyers? Are they aware of us now?”

“The light betrays them so they act and watch within the shadows. They know we protectors exist, yes,” said Sir Stephen. “Our stratagem was made to create circles within circles, each shielding the other before, after and within. The Way has been hidden, disguised and guarded well. The knowledge of the Wending was tightly bound by Godric and Helga.”

“Helga Hufflepuff?” asked Irma.

“Yes. She was most resolute and devoted in her charge. An exceptional woman she was.”

“Her charge?” asked Minerva.

“The strategem was her creation.”

“That will teach me to never underestimate a Hufflepuff.”

“Me, too,” said Irma. She flipped to a new page of notes.

“Sir Stephen, have there been others like us who have come here to see you?” asked Minerva.

The knight hesitated. “Only twice before. The first acted with honor to their end. The second perished in the doing.”

“They all died?”

Sir Stephen’s voice was gruff. “The second yes. The first did not return from the Gates. Their fate is unknown.”

“You mentioned the Gates before. What are they?”

“The Gates of Time. Only when other paths fail may they be used,” said Sir Stephen. “That is all I may say.”

Minerva nodded. “What do you know of Juliana Pendry? Is there information that we must know about her?”

“It is her path you follow. Learn of her you will. She shall not lead you astray.” The ghost looked off into the distance. “I ask a boon of you.”

“Of course, Sir Stephen.”

“My spear. Find it and keep it safe.”

“Where may we find it?”

“It was my spear that pierced the baron’s heart,” said Sir Stephen. “It was forged for me in Antioch with holy water and my own blood. It bears my mark. I vowed that it would never leave my side. Helga’s ritual demanded a token from me. I gave it freely. I believe it has a role yet to play.”

Irma said, “It should still be in the castle somewhere. We shall find it and keep it safe. I promise you.”

Sir Stephen bowed low. “My thanks, my sisters. Do you have further questions?”

Irma shook her head. Minerva was thoughtful then asked, “Should we fail, are there others elsewhere who may succeed?”

“For each time of need, only one allowance could be made. Fail or succeed, it must be you and no one else.”

A feeling of dread came over Minerva. “What is this allowance?”

“Lord Salazar created the Chains of Consequence. Disruptions in the Wending affect the Chains. As a consequence, protectors are sought out in the past, the present and the future,” said the knight. “Like you, they seek to unravel the Chain and restore the Way to its proper course.”

“Chains of Consequence? I don’t like the sound of that,” noted Irma. “I’m getting chills writing it down.”

“How was this chain made? Is it a charm, an incantation?” asked Minerva.

“I know naught of its making. I was witness to … to quarrels between the two lords on its nature.”

“The two lords would be Godric and Salazar?”

Sir Stephen nodded. “Godric did not desire it but accepted it as the only … solution.”

Minerva glanced at her watched and started. “It’s nearly three in the morning, Irma. We have to leave before it gets light.” She faced the knight. “My lord, our thanks for your invaluable aid. We shall return to our home before seeking Rowena’s Gift. Farewell.”

The knight grinned. “Oh, we may yet see each other in times to come and places to be, Minerva McGonagall. In this time, farewell.”

With that intriguing statement, Sir Stephen’s presence dissolved.

“Does that mean that I WILL see him again?” asked Minerva.

“I wouldn’t mind it. As ghosts go, he’s pleasant to look at. Handsome. He must have been a charmer in his day,” said Irma. She packed her notebook and pen away.

The witches put their traveling cloaks on. Soon she and Minerva were flying through the night air heading due north for Hogwarts. If the wind was behind them, perhaps they could make it in time for a late breakfast. They had quite a lot to report.

* * *

An hour later, they encountered strong winds. Climbing to a higher altitude did not alleviate the buffeting they were receiving. They pressed on but the winds grew violent ripping their cloaks to tatters. Thunder clouds formed above them.

“Something’s wrong!” yelled Minerva. “Do you feel it?!”

“Yes! Like something grabbing at my broom. Pulling it … AWAY!” shouted Irma.

Minerva reached a hand out to Irma. “Hold my hand. Think of the Great Hall. Apparate on my mark!”

“From here?! I don’t know if I can!”

“No other option. Think! Believe you can do it.” With thighs gripping her broom close, Minerva grasped her heart pendant and pictured the hall in her mind.

A gust of wind and a scattering of hail raked through them pushing them apart. They held on to their brooms tighter and tried to close the distance between them.

Brooms passed alongside. Too far still. The rain became a downpour. More hail pelted their faces.

Another pass. Hands brushed together. Fingers held.

“NOW! APPARATE!” commanded Minerva. “DO IT!”

In the next instant, the brooms were caught by vicious winds and torn into pieces. The witches were gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Stephen has helped to clear things up while bringing up more questions. He is based on the talented, late actor Patrick McGoohan who was offered the part of Dumbledore first. He had to turn it down due to health. He would have made a great Dumbledore. He played the King in Braveheart (sinister under velvet) and the lead in The Prisoner. 
> 
> Where will Irma and Minerva find themselves next? Are the Destroyers of Destiny on their trail? And Trelawney, well ... we shall see. Albus has a date with the desk (picture in Chap 3). It's just a matter of when. 
> 
> I've added image banners to the chapters to help visualize some things. I often add banners to stories and sometimes there are clues in the banners. Happy Reading!


	19. Temptation

Minerva blinked and noticed two things. First, the sky had changed from stormy to pitch black. Second, she was falling. Fast. Her right hand spasmed automatically seeking her wand. Somewhere to her right she could hear Irma in the same predicament.

“Aaaah!” yelled Irma as she fell face down into darkness.

Sooner than expected she hit something. Hard. Sharp, stinging pain radiated along her left side from shoulder to knee.

THUMP!

“Irma! Irma!” yelled Minerva through gasps of pain.

“Guh … here,” said Irma. Her breathing was loud and shallow but she was alive. She began to cough repeatedly. “Ugh … dust.”

Minerva ignored the pain branching out all over her body. She was lying on a solid wood surface. The air smelled musty and stale. Her hand explored around her. As she ran a hand across a blunt edge, she felt the thrumming of strong magic brushing against her fingertips. There was something familiar about it. Curious, she ran a flat palm across the surface she sat on. She relaxed her body and strained all her senses. _What are you?_

Distorted images appeared in her mind like a kaleidoscope. A young boy nibbling on a sweet. A bald man with a dark beard smiling smugly. A woman dancing and laughing in the arms of a man. A stone slab with symbols. An older woman standing like a shadow in front of a light source alternating between red and white. A sword gleaming on a wood surface dark as ebony. Two muggles collapsing to the ground unmoving. A goblin sneering holding a spear. Two people nude swimming under moonlight. An old man crying and wiping tears away. A tower bathed in magical fire.

She heard voices but one voice seemed clearer than the others. _When you come to me, I shall show you our new home, our new life. We have been wanderers too long, you and I._

She scooted to the edge and got to her feet. She swallowed through a lump in her throat. She pulled her wand out of her satchel. “Lumos.”

_I watch you sleeping and too soon I miss your smile, your eyes, your touch._

Minerva moved towards where she could hear Irma moving. “Get up, quickly! We have to get out of here!”

In the nimbus glow of her wand, she saw Irma’s pale face. Irma was staring at the desk.

_I am attracted to you, Minerva McGonagall._

“Is that what I think it is?” asked Irma. She took a step forward.

“Yes. It’s the desk. Don’t touch it. Don’t get too close,” said Minerva. She tried the door but it was locked. She said forcefully, “MALLEO!”

An invisible force seemed to hammer at the door. It bowed outward in the middle. The hinges squeaked in protest before tearing off the door frame. The door collapsed to the floor.

The witches stepped out into a dungeon corridor at Hogwarts. They made quite the picture. Their soaking wet traveling cloaks hung in torn strips on their bodies. Their muggle clothing underneath was wet and heavy.

Down the corridor she saw Albus running following a scampering house elf. He called out, “Minerva! Irma! Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s us,” said Irma. She looked worriedly at Minerva.

Minerva had both hands pressed against the wall. Her eyes were tightly closed. She shook her head from side to side a few times. Her lips moved wordlessly.

With a stricken look on his face, Albus put a hand on Minerva’s shoulder. He could feel her shivering. “Minerva?”

“Get … get us out of here, Albus,” whispered Minerva holding on to Albus’ arm for support. She took deep breaths attempting to calm a body suffering from the after effect of too much adrenalin and mental distress.

Before leaving, the headmaster warded the entire short corridor from intrusion. The witches felt a surge of potent magical energy as Albus created a shield where the door had been. House elves would create a new door later. Albus would personally see to its installation.

 

* * *

Poppy had Minerva and Irma sequestered in a smaller room. Both witches sat on the edge of beds nibbling on chunks of chocolate. Too full of nervous energy and sheer relief, neither of them had been talkative on the way to the infirmary. The nurse gave them plain day robes so they could change out of their wet clothes.

Irma asked, “Are you telling him everything?”

“Nearly,” replied Minerva.

“Will he let us go after Rowena’s gift?”

“Not likely by ourselves. He’ll insist on going.” Minerva took her beanie off letting her hair fall. She looked far younger than her normal, stern appearance. She didn’t have to see Albus to know he was likely pacing in the other room. “But it’s term. We can’t both be gone from Hogwarts.”

Back in the ward, Poppy began to pass her wand over them. Her lips pursed in disapproval. “My diagnostic spells show unusually high levels of stress and signs of exhaustion. Have you two been getting enough rest?”

“I intend to tonight,” said Irma.

“You should,” noted Poppy.

Albus’ eyes fell on Minerva. “Exhaustion?”

Minerva rose to her feet. “Poppy, thank you. I think we’ve recovered sufficiently. Albus, may we meet in your office? Right now.”

“Drink these first then you can go.” Poppy handed them two potions each. “This will replenish your magical energy. You’re both depleted.”

Albus’ expression darkened, “How depleted?”

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say they’ve been recharging fallen wards or dueling in a tournament,” said Poppy. “Their levels are down by more than half. Naturally, I won’t ask where you two have been. I doubt I’d get a straight answer.”

Irma finished the two potions without comment. Her mental equilibrium was returning.

Minerva grimaced after downing the second potion.“Utterly foul.”

* * *

The witches had barely sat down before house elves arrived with tea and breakfast. Albus noticed that the ladies only took tea.

“I take it your days away have been eventful,” said Albus.

Without preamble, Minerva described their activities for the last four days. She noticed that all the portraits were awake and paying close attention. She omitted any mention of the experimental brooms.

“We were flying back. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky,” said Minerva. “Suddenly the winds began to build then the rain began. It developed too quickly.”

“We were tossed around like rag dolls. It did not feel natural,” added Irma. She eyed Minerva who seemed recovered from whatever she had been feeling in the dungeon.

“Magical in nature?” asked Albus in a deceptively calm voice.

Minerva nodded. “Yes, I believe so. Sir Stephen said the Destroyers knew about us. Now, we know about them.”

“We must get Rowena’s gift. We must know what is really happening,” said Albus.

“I want to know how they knew about us,” said Irma. “We didn’t meet other wizards or witches. Or see any magical creatures.”

“It is not out of the realm of possibility that certain places are being watched,” said Albus. “Once you were sighted, you were marked.”

Minerva said, “There have been two other parties before us. Who knows how many have not made it past the guardian? We must presume that Achnabreck, the graveyard at Kilmartin, the clearing by the mill or Christchurch are known starting points. The rest of the Way from now on are likely unknown.”

“Logically, they should have left us alone then kept following us to the next point. Why bother us now?” asked Irma. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“They didn’t know where we were going. They couldn’t have known what we discussed with Sir Stephen. Perhaps, they didn’t want us to go further and it was the most expedient manner to stop us,” said Minerva. “If we cannot go on, we cannot correct the Way. That’s exactly what they want.”

“Have they … they gotten rid of others before they got to Sir Stephen?” asked Irma.

Minerva was lost in thought. This was a possibility that she hadn’t thought of.

Irma continued, “For all we know, we are the fourth or sixth protector but the only ones to have succeeded in meeting with Sir Stephen. The issue with the Way is possibly worse now because no one has resolved it.”

“All the more reason to retrieve Rowena’s gift,” said Albus. “The four of, including Sybill, will leave Friday afternoon after classes.”

“She’s not a good flyer, Albus,” said Minerva. “And you’re assuming that she’ll go.”

“I shall speak with her after dinner. She has to go. I shall take care of our transport there and back,” said Albus. “I will teach your classes tomorrow. I am ordering both of you to rest and recover.”

“I have a sword to find,” said Irma. “I’ll see you at dinner.” The librarian left the office.

“Do not exert yourself while you look for it.” Albus looked at Minerva. “Minerva, I have a selection of Rowena’s orbs that are relevant to your, um, quest.”

“I shall study them tomorrow.”

“Allow me to escort you to your quarters,” said Albus.

They left his office chatting softly. Minerva kept a hand on the crook of his arm.

“You don’t trust me to rest?” asked Minerva.

“I trust you completely. However, I know you too well. If any problem arises from here to there, you shall forget about resting and go off to solve the problem.”

“I have a pounding headache so I shall be seeking my calm bed,” said Minerva.

“Let me get a headache potion and—”

“No, it’s something I get often. Usually, I can ignore it. I know it will fade with rest.” Minerva could feel Albus studying her face. She gave him a small smile to reassure me. “I made my four day deadline with hours to spare.”

“I sense that you would not have minded staying away another day,” said Albus. “Have you grown tired of Hogwarts? Looking for something new?”

“It was refreshing to be out of the classroom I admit,” said Minerva. “But my … my h-home is here. I could be nowhere else.”

“It wouldn’t be the same without you, my dear,” said Albus patting her hand. “I wouldmiss you very much.”

* * *

Irma found the former Bloody Baron Antoine de Neuvilette strolling through thewalled kitchen garden. She watched him complete a full circuit before approaching him.

“Baron, may I speak with you?” asked Irma.

“Antoine, please,” said Antoine. He motioned to a nearby bench. “How may I help you?”

“I’m looking for the spear that you used to … to end your life,” said Irma. “Would you know what happened to it?”

Antoine thought for a few minutes. “I recall Godric removing the spear from my body after the incantation. Helga had remarked that the spear could not remain at Hogwarts but it had to be kept safe.” He closed his eyes. “There was a case. Metal. The last I saw of it was within the case.”

“Where is the case now?”

Antoine shook his head. “Gringotts? The headmaster ought know.”

Irma’s shoulders drooped. “No, he does not.”

“After all this time, why search for it now?” asked Antoine.

“It’s important and I promised to find it.” Irma asked, “Could you ask the other ghosts? A few were here before you. They may know something.”

The baron looked uncomfortable. “I am shunned. Even Peeves will not come near.”

“Afraid resurrections are contagious?”

“They sense the dark magic that was employed upon me. That stirs fear,” replied Antoine. “My soul is tainted. I feel the … the attraction of both light and dark.”

“You are not an evil person. You never were,” said Irma.

“I fear it is the legacy - my desk. My father oft told us, his children, to not seek such magic. If you did, you would be forever in its debt,” said Antoine. “I now know the truth of his words.”

“I saw the desk earlier. I sensed immense power. It made me curious and—“

“Did you lay hand on it?” asked the baron with sudden urgency.

“I nearly did but I did not,” answered Irma.

The baron relaxed. “Very good.”

“What would have happened had I touched it?”

“The desk has a function of discovery. Once touched, it seeks out that person’s innermost desires and needs. This seeking is part of its nature. The person is unaware of the action.”

“It calls to that person?”

“It does nothing to draw the person. Its lure is not of the body. It is of the mind,” said Antoine. “The Mirror of Erised shows one what one desires most. It can gratifying but never satisfying. The desk comes to know what those desires are and makes it reality if you so wish it to do so. That is a power that no one, no one thing, should ever possess. In conversation with my mother, my father once referred to the desk as ‘Une grande tentation dangereuse’. I thought it was in jest. It was not.”

“A great dangerous temptation indeed. I saw Albus casting protections around it. We need not worry about the desk luring anyone and hurting them,” said Irma. “Thank you, Antoine. I’ll leave you to—“

“Could you remain for a while?”

“I wouldn’t want to keep you from whatever you’re doing.”

“I do nothing, madam.” He took a deep breath. “I am improved in body yet the mind is idle.”

An idea came to Irma. “Antoine, you have experience in making furniture? The actual crafting of it? Upholstery? Leather? Bindings?”

Antoine nodded. “Yes.”

“Those skills are similar to the restoration work I do. Would you like to help me with that work and in the library?” asked Irma.

Antoine looked at his hands. “To work with my hands again, yes, I would like that. It shall occupy me well.”

“Come with me then. You’ll be working in my private work room,” said Irma. “I shall clear it with the headmaster. I believe he will agree.”

* * *

The quill rasped over the parchment in quick slashing strokes. Minerva wrote down all she could remember of the images that had filled her mind. Some images reminded her of other things. She wrote:

\- Tower fire

\- A laughing dancing woman. Isabel and the baron?

\- Boy with candy. Baron?

\- Bald man smiling. Salazar Slytherin?

\- Dead muggles. Who?

\- Sword. Godric’s sword?

\- Woman in light.

She tried to remember the voice and the words it had spoken. No matter how hard she tried she could not. The voice became fainter and fainter in her memory.

“Oh, this wretched headache! I need sleep.” Minerva left the list on her table. She could add to it if she remembered more.

She fell asleep dreaming of hot sands, camels and flying carpets under an Egyptian sun. 

* * *

Phineas Nigellus entered his portrait in the headmaster’s office. “Headmaster, are you there?”

Armando Dippet answered, “Albus is teaching a Transfiguration class. It should be the last class of the day.”

“I shall wait.”

“Phineas, where have you been?” asked Dilys Derwent. “I know you were not in the library or anywhere in the castle.”

“I was in a library - my family’s library. The Black family library remains intact and useful,” said Phineas. “I have found what I suspect to be the source of the creation of the desk - Egypt.”

“Did you say made in Egypt?” asked Dexter Fortescue.

“Not the making. Rather that the knowledge of how to imbue an object with certain abilities,” said Phineas. “I want to consult with Minerva to—“

Dippet said strongly, “Not yet. We must speak with Albus first.”

“She is an expert in ancient Egyptian magic as was her mother. Perhaps in their notes and research, we could find more—“

“Desist, I say,” said Dippet. “You know why we must tread carefully.”

Phineas insisted, “If we know how it was created, we can destroy it. That is a worthy goal.”

“I see no wrong in that. On the matter of Minerva and Egypt we must be cautious,” said Dippet.

“Perhaps, we may even discover a way to release her,” said Phineas.

“Not even the Guild has found anything of use. Dangling such temptation is cruel,” said Dilys.

“We shall wait for Albus to return. We shall abide by his decision no matter what it may be,” said Dippet.

Authority seeped into Dippet’s every word. None of the other portraits said anything more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is more of a mental cliffhanger. I hope it has sent your gray cells thinking. Lots of intriguing stuff to think about. 
> 
> The Egypt references are connected with the first book in this series To Catch a Lady's Favour. I shall say no more than that.
> 
> Did you like the way the last cliffhanger was resolved? Other thoughts?


	20. Origins

In the headmaster's office, all attention was on Phineas Nigellus.

"The base construction of the transfiguration was meant as a way to create toys for the amusement of royal children. For example, changing small figurines to move arms, legs and tails," explained Phineas. "Combining charms and transfiguration brought about a renaissance of ancient magic. Objects could now be endowed with limited sentience. A powerful and knowledgeable mage could affect complex magic on large objects. This validates Minerva's theory that the ancients used magic to build their enormous pyramids, statues and obelisks. I remember scoffing at them myself. Do you remember her conviction that the sphinxes lining the Alley of Sphinxes in Luxor had been enchanted to be creatures of burden? These same creatures pulled carts of stones and materials used in the construction of the pyramids."

Albus asked a question. "Phineas, what made you look to Egypt in the first place?"

"As instructed, I spoke at length to the Baron. Several of his statements sparked my memory of things I had read as a boy in my family's library," said Phineas. "All the drawers of the desk have three pebble-sized stones embedded within. The Baron said that they used to fascinate him and his brothers. Why? His exact words were 'The stones glowed blue upon the brush of sunlight.' Poetic and true."

Albus and several portraits well versed in magical history nodded understanding.

"To my mind, it could only be diorite gneiss or Chephren Gneiss. A gray, metamorphic rock favored by the ancients in creating artifacts of high status and importance such as the funerary statue of Pharaoh Khafre," said Phineas. "The Gebel el-Asr quarry from whence these stones came is in the Sahara desert. It's 60 kilometers south of Abu Simbel. There are ancient paved roads from the quarry to the Valley of the Kings."

Albus barely suppressed a shifting of his shoulders at the mention of Abu Simbel. "Phineas, you are awkwardly fitting facts into an unsupported theory."

"Am I now?" said Phineas. "We are all aware of your antipathy for Egypt. We have had differences on how to deal with the thorny issue, I have always respected your reasoning. Though how you have withstood it all these years, I do not know."

The headmaster sighed. "That which cannot be removed must be endured. In any case, I find this link to be ... tenuous."

"I have other material facts which led me to my conclusion. If I may continue?"

"Go on."

"According to the Baron, the walls of the cabinets are lined with a panel of aged wood. Engraved upon one side of each panel are various depictions of two things. The first is a tree with heart-shaped leaves and a wide canopy of branches forming a wide area of shade. The second figure is that of a crook and flail. The Baron was less exact on what was on the other side of the panel though he is certain there was something," said Phineas. "The Baron indicated that these panels were not original to the desk in his time. They were added by one of the Founders - Helga Hufflepuff."

So dumbfounding was this that no sound was heard in the office.

"This is the story as was told to me. The need to protect the strands of fate was monumental. While the founders were powerful, none were immortal. Yet, their task had to traverse time and space. Each founder contributed their abilities to various aspects of the plan. This much dovetails with what we have learned thus far," said Phineas. "Helga's task was to assure a lasting foundation through times of strife and chaos. Those were the very words the Baron used - strife and chaos."

"I believe the first figure is what we know to be 'The Tree of Life' as referenced within works of both muggle and wizard antiquity. It is a figure of veneration. Across religions and cultures around the world, its illustration is similar. The tree is the sycamore fig tree or ficus sycomorus. Its wide canopy of branches long provided shade and shelter from the elements. The fig fruits are nourishing to man and animal. Its leaves are heart-shaped lending the tree another name - the 'Tree of Love'," explained Phineas. "Every part of the tree had uses from medicinal to wood shelters. In the wizarding world, its use has sadly gone out of fashion. But we here all know its earliest use - creating the first truly magical wands during the age of the Middle Kingdom in Egypt."

Ever the showman, Phineas paused in his lecture for dramatic effect.

"The Baron recalled that Helga left Hogwarts for Egypt to retrieve the wood herself. She returned with the panels cut and engraved. Exactly Where she went, he does not know," said Phineas. "We now come to the second figure on the panels - the crook and flail. These are symbols for the Egyptian god Osiris. As you may recall, Osiris was lord of the underworld and influenced fertility and death. The Cult of Osiris considered him to be the embodiment of ultimate resurrection. As described in the Book of the Dead, Osiris' body was buried under a fig sycamore tree which then flourished over the ages."

Murmurs of "resurrection" and "eternal life" filled the room.

"I now come to something from my family's library. I remember reading as a boy a journal of some lost ancestor who studied in Egypt about Thoth, the god of wisdom, writing, magic and the moon. He recounts a fantastical tale of the Book of Thoth. It was said that any magician who read the Book of Thoth would become the greatest of all our kind. This is well known legend. However, what is little known and actually suppressed is that this blessing of power could only be given to those deserving of it. The unworthy would earn tragedy and pain for all eternity. Does this sound familiar?"

"The Baron and the past deaths of students," said Albus.

Phineas nodded and continued. "My ancestor was witness to a secret ritual among the Cult of Thoth where a portion of the book was read. If the reader survived, then he or she was accepted. This too sounds familiar. It is similar to the actions of the markers that Minerva and Irma discovered. Pass the test and proceed or fail and, perhaps, die. To my mind, there are too many similarities to be coincidental."

"Helga Hufflepuff was charged with creating the overall strategy. She has gone to extraordinary lengths to accomplish her task," said Albus.

Phineas grinned. "Her plan has dashes of guile and an orderly elegance. I must consider her an honorary member of my house."

The ever-practical Dilys Derwent asked, "How did Helga Hufflepuff imbue the desk with the powers of the Book of Thoth? It must be what she did but how was it done? Has the same charm or spell granted the desk its invulnerability?"

"My questions exactly," said Phineas. "Minerva has studied Thoth in depth. Surely, she could bring more light to the subject."

"N-n-no," said Albus. "At least not yet."

Dippet said, "Albus, you are determined to find the reason for the Baron's resurrection yet do not deploy our best asset. I must side with Phineas on this. We need Minerva."

"I agree but ... but not yet," insisted Albus. A memory of Minerva's exhausted face and trembling figure came to him. "She must rest. And ... and we have the trip to find Rowena's Gift. After we return, I will tell her of this ... this new development."  
  
"We must see the desk," said Quentin Trimble. "It must be studied closely in due course."

"We are forbidden to do so," said Dilys.

"Only by words. There are no magical constraints contained within the oaths we took," said Trimble. "It is fear and terror that stays our intent."

"You suspect something, Quentin?" asked Albus. Trimble had authored the textbook *The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection*. He rarely offered counsel but when he did so it was wise to listen. Albus had always harbored the suspicion that the seemingly mild-mannered Trimble knew more of the Dark Arts than he let on in person or in print. Trimble was the only one that Phineas Nigellus never debated. There was something to that.

"Yes, I do." Trimble added, "May I collaborate with Phineas Nigellus on this project, Headmaster?"

Astonished, Albus took a full minute to accede to Trimble's request. He glanced at Phineas Nigellus. Was that a hint of fear in the Slytherin's face?

"Thank you, Headmaster," said Trimble. "Nigellus, we shall confer after this meeting. Privately."

"Er, of course, yes," said Phineas.

"Do you have more to discuss, Phineas?" asked Albus.

"Not at this time."

"Meeting adjourned. I must get to the Hall for dinner," said Albus. He made his way to the Great Hall lost in thought and memory.

* * *

Albus glanced at Minerva who was seated to his right. The color was back in her cheeks. Her eyes were bright. She alternated her attention between him and her house table.

"Minerva, you look rested," said Albus.

"I am," said Minerva.

"Your headache is gone?"

"As if I never had one," said Minerva. "Don't worry. As I have told you, I have them frequently. Though I admit they are not normally so incapacitating. I feel quite ready to speak with Sybill."

"She may prove surprising," mused Albus.

"Your optimism is not contagious." Minerva glanced towards the Divination teacher who had uncharacteristically joined them for dinner. "What did you tell her?"

"That I wanted to speak with her about a professional opportunity."

"Oh, Albus," groaned Minerva.

"It was not a lie."

"Its vagueness has no doubt lead her down a trail of the most fanciful notions. You know what she's like. How could you?"

"I wanted her to be curious and motivated. I believe I have succeeded."

"Well, I shall give her the benefit of the doubt," said Minerva. "What about our travel arrangements? What do you have in mind?"

"We shall port key to Inveraray. From there we shall drive to Kilmartin. A caretaker at the castle will be lending me his car. I'm told it's a mere hour's drive to Kilmartin," said Albus.

"Albus, by your own admission, you haven't driven since the war. Or have you but haven't told me?" asked Minerva.

"I am certain that the correct mechanics shall come to me at the appropriate time."

"Perhaps, we can hire a driver and--"

"We are four traveling and the car can only seat four," said Albus. "You and I in front. Me to drive and you to navigate. Irma and Sybill in the back."

"How perfectly efficient."

"Surely you could spend an hour in my company."

"I could spend hours with you. That's not the problem."

"Then what is?"

"This quest began as a ... a mystery. But we have learned so much that I feel we must better protect ourselves," said Minerva. "Is traveling by car safe enough?"

"It would be unexpected," said Albus. He gently placed a hand over Minerva's hand as it rested on her armrest. He could feel the strength and pulsing vitality of Minerva's potent magical energy. It was as familiar to him as his own. "Danger can reach us anywhere. The only true safety is in one's companions. Of that I am most assured."

"Three out of four isn't bad," said Minerva. "No, sorry, I said I would give her the benefit of the doubt. I shall do my best."

"Or die trying?"

"I would not go that far."

The two of them made their way to Albus' office to await Professor Sybill Trelawney.

* * *

As more and more was explained to Sybill, the more subdued and serious she became. This was so far from Minerva's expectations that she watched the younger woman more closely.

"Am I to understand that Rowena's Gift shall only reveal itself in the presence of a seer?" asked Sybill.

"Yes. That is our interpretation of seer's blood." Albus sat back in his chair. "We must keep in mind context. In those times, blood was synonymous with life, energy and living presence."

"A tangible manifestation of the seer's gift is not required then. Good," said Sybill.

"We are not ruling that out, Sybill," said Minerva.

"It is a remote possibility," said Albus. "Certainly Rowena knew that visions cannot be ordered on demand."

In a small voice, Sybill said, "If it is required, I shall do my utmost best, Headmaster."

"I know you will," said Albus. "Time is of the essence. We will leave immediately after class. I have made arrangements for our absence to be, um, unremarkable. In the event that our absence is prolonged, please set your students to a research task that they may complete out of your class."

Sybill nodded. "How are we to travel?"

"We will be utilizing a port key for the first part of the journey. Muggle transport thereafter. Dress in comfortable but Muggle clothing, Sybill," said Albus.

"It's best to bring a satchel or bag for your wand and a change of clothing," added Minerva.

Sybill stood up. "I have no further questions. I shall go and prepare." At the door, she turned and said, "Headmaster, thank you."

"For what, Sybill?"

"For believing that I can help." Sybill closed the door behind me.

"That wasn't what I was expecting," said Minerva.

"I know your doubts, Minerva. I share them," said Albus. "I cannot explain it but I feel strongly that Sybill is who we are supposed to bring."

"Wishful thinking?" Minerva paced. "I've never heard of her having a true vision or a prophecy. Other than her family name she has not distinguished herself."

"Not in public."

Minerva arched a brow. "So she has made a prophecy?"

Albus stood and walked toward his sleeping phoenix. "Unlike Rowena and Cassandra Trelawney who had command of their gifts, Sybill is only a conduit of visionary power. She cannot direct, guide or remember a vision. However, she does get genuine impressions. Unfortunately, her interpretative powers are unrefined."

"What do you mean she does not remember?" asked Minerva.

"I interviewed her as a favor to friend. Unexpectedly, the power came over her. She described a prophecy to me. I was able to record her trance and the prophecy. She emerged with no recollection whatsoever," said Albus stroking Fawkes.

"I know you cannot tell me the prophecy. Could you say if her prophecy has passed?"

"Not yet but I know it will."

"How do you know?"

Albus whispered, "Because some of the pieces are on the board. We only wait for the rest to come into play."

Minerva stood close to Albus. "We? So it shall happen in our lifetime?"

"I believe so." Albus turned to face her. "But that is for another time. Now, we have a more pressing matter."

Wanting to lighten the serious mood, Minerva said, "Turning Sybill into an adventurer?"

"Would it be a lesson beyond you, my dear?"

She touched his arm. "We shall see. Let us hope she does not prove my downfall."

Albus laughed then said, "You astound me Minerva McGonagall."

Minerva searched Albus' face. For what she wasn't sure. The curious feeling vanished. "I shall make rounds now. Good night, Albus."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flip through your copy of the Book of the Dead to know more about Osiris and Thoth. When I was doing research for this story, I found the Book of Thoth and the Tree of Life to be the best origin elements for the Desk. At that point, it made sense to put this story in the same universe as To Catch a Lady's Favour. Don't worry. Scatterbrained Sybill will not be missing in action. 
> 
> Questions for Readers: How is the pacing? Too much information? Too slow? Confusing? Let me know in the comments please.
> 
> Upcoming: Road Trip! What will Rowena's Gift reveal? Will the Destroyers of Destiny be on their trail?


	21. Road Trip

Minerva and Irma made their way to the dungeons down a set of stairways rarely used by students. The port key was in the most isolated area of the school - the corridor outside of the room where the desk was stored.

"I do like this coat, Minerva. Thank you for lending it to me." Irma wore a tan hip-length, leather swing coat. "It's warm but not suffocatingly so."

"It should provide some protection should we find ourselves hurtling through the air again," said Minerva. Like her, Irma chose to wear dark jeans. "I see denim has grown on you."

"It's gone soft after the washings. Quite comfortable for traveling who knows where." Irma had ditched the heeled witch's boots for sturdy brown work boots. She paired the jeans with a white collared shirt under a navy cardigan. She could always peel layers off if she got too hot. "What do you call your coat, Minerva?"

"It's a trench coat. It's light and waterproof."

"Really?"

"Well, it can't survive a full dunking in a lake but I will stay dry in a heavy storm." Minerva's padded boots barely made any noise on the stone floor. Her dark green, knee-length trench coat covered a print scarf tied about her neck over a mint blouse. "The best part are the pockets. They're deep enough for my wand. The zippers keep everything inside."

"I suspect you are carrying more than a wand."

"A bit of this and a bit of that."

"What kinds of bits?"

"Things to help us get out of trouble. Or to make trouble if need be."

Somehow Irma had found the time to create two small black crossover bags for the two of them. They were brown leather with slip pockets on the outside and many pockets inside. They were both crammed with shrunken items and supplies. Minerva approved of the design. It wasn't fashionable but eminently practical. Knowing that they may have to run and fight, being lightly burdened would be an advantage.

"I tried to convince Sybill of the merits of trousers. I failed," said Irma. "She said she had an outfit ready to wear. What else could I do or say?"

"She'll have to find out the hard way," mused Minerva. "I hope there's no trouble. I really do."

"We should be able to handle anything. Albus is with us this time."

"That's what worries me."

"For Merlin's sake, why?"

"Because he's known to nearly everyone. His presence will be noticed," said Minerva. "It's like ... like waving a red flag to the Destroyers. It could be an irresistible challenge to them."

"I hadn't thought of that," said Irma. "Once he enters the field, it will be a ... a ..."

"Declaration of war," finished Minerva. "Neither side will or can back out. We are all committed to the end."

* * *

As soon as they crossed Albus' protective ward, Minerva knew that what she had felt days before had not been a figment of her imagination or an effect of her then weakened state. Unbidden images swept through her mind. There was a dark-haired boy reading a book. A young man with a face contorted with desire and jealousy screaming inaudible words. There was a dirty and dishevelled Albus leading a camel. A horsehair brush flicking over a stone tablet. Ruby red eyes gleaming mysteriously in the dark.

She could hear her own voice inside her head. *Abraxos, ill favored son of Thoth, torch bearer of the misguided Sun.*

"Thoth? Haven't thought of any of that for years," said Minerva.

"What was that, Minerva?" asked Irma.

"Nothing. Just old memories." Minerva focused her mind on more mundane things to avoid an incipient headache. She began to think about the school inventory and what had to be ordered before the new term. She had gotten to linens for the Ravenclaws when she spied Sybill waiting for them at the far end.

Sybill wasn't wearing her usual school attire. Her hair was carefully coiffed into a large, neat bun behind her head. A dark brown sweater coat covered a bold print flowery top and a slim black skirt that went down to her ankle boots. Her tortoiseshell glasses were predictably large and round but smaller in size. A patchwork satchel hung over one shoulder.

Irma managed to say, "Oh, Sybill, you look very nice. Professional."

"I've seen muggles dressed like this. I thought it drab so I added a few touches of my own," said Sybill.

Minerva was about to respond but at that moment Albus emerged from the room occupied by the desk. He quite took her breath away.

"It's not a glamour. You've shaved your beard off and cut your hair!" exclaimed Minerva.

"I thought a disguise was called for." Albus rubbed at his naked chin. "Feels like I shed a stone of weight."

"I would not have recognized you," said Minerva looking him up and down.

"That was my intention. I shall have to use a glamour spell until everything grows back," said Albus. He adjusted his dark gray waistcoat which covered a bright white shirt unbuttoned at the throat. He felt about the pockets of his navy blue suit. "Now for the port key. I know I took it with me."

"That's one way of confusing the enemy," said Irma with a grin.

"Just so." Albus took out a small leather wallet so old that it was held together by a red ribbon. He began to untie the ribbon. It was likely a port key unregistered with the Ministry.

Minerva tried not to stare. Beardless, Albus' face seemed decades younger. His blue eyes shone like sapphires. Her mind suddenly filled with the view of something running low to the ground along a dim, dusty corridor. A bell sounded tiny and shrill again and again. She closed her eyes and began to concentrate on inventory once more.

Her effort was for naught. Another memory came at her in a rush. Her fingers tracing a roughened beard then soft lips that hoarsely whispered her name with passionate intensity. The feel and heat of hard muscles gliding over her pliant, impatient flesh quickened her pulse. A part of her desperately wanted to indulge and see where the memory took her.

Irma heard Minerva's sharp intake of breath and glanced at her. Concerned, she touched her friend's elbow.

Minerva swallowed hard and blinked several times. "Should get away ... we're losing time I mean."

"Yes. Soonest started, soonest past." Albus opened the wallet and placed it flat on his palm. "Everyone touch a spot and let's be off on our grand adventure."

* * *

In the mud-splattered, age-worn but mechanically sound Range Rover, Irma and Sybill hugged the passenger side doors. Albus had indeed remembered how to drive. Unfortunately, he was enamoured with the accelerator. They hurled down the A83 at breakneck speed.

Sybill had her eyes closed and her head resting back against her seat. Both hands gripped the door. The occasional moan would escape from her lips. Irma was faring better than Sybill. She was taking in the blurry landscape passing by and gripped the door with only one hand. Compared to broom travel, the Rover was positively luxurious.

Had Minerva been in her cat form in front, her head would have been darting left and right and her tail swishing madly. Instead, she watched all the cars in front and behind for unwanted followers. She studied the skies for the unexpected. Her right hand was in her coat pocket touching her wand the entire ride.

For his part, Albus was thoroughly enjoying the driving experience and the company. He trusted Minerva to spot any irregularities so his mind was free to wander. It wandered many times towards Minerva's profile. Seeing her in muggle clothing brought back the more pleasant memories of their time in Egypt.

"The roundabout next, take the second exit, Albus," said Minerva spotting the signage indicating Kilmartin. She turned towards the passengers. "We're nearly there."

"Where are we staying until it gets dark?" Irma asked.

"First, we'll locate the henge then retire to a pub for a bite to eat."

"An excellent plan, my dear," said Albus. "Are you all right, Sybill?"

Sybill said weakly, "I ... am ... surviving."

"Try to rest. Conserve your energy for when it will be needed," counseled Irma.

"The world is turning upon me." Sybill stiffened. Her eyes rolled back. Her neck arched tight as a bowstring. An otherworldly voice came forth. "The False Ones cry for blood and death."

Startled, Albus eased on the gas while jerking the wheel towards the side of the road. "Record her now!"

Minerva cast a recording spell wandlessly. Eyes wide, Irma fished out her notebook while listening intently.

"When the Mule passes the Gates, all hope shall be lost." Eyes wide open, Sybill let out a long, agonizing moan.

The car came to a jerking stop. Both Albus and Minerva turned and watched Sybill. Irma wrote furiously.

"Kill with honor. Moraris mori. To right the stricken Strands, seek out the secret denied." Sybill's eyes closed. Her body relaxed and she slumped in her seat.

Robot-like, Minerva ended the recording spell. She sat back in her seat and looked outward. She didn't acknowledge Albus' concerned glance...

"Prophecies should not be taken literally. It could mean many things, Minerva," said Albus. "Irma, did you get all that?"

"Yes, I did." Irma read her transcription aloud. "The False Ones cry for death and ... and blood. When the Mule passes the Gates, all hope shall be lost. Kill with honor. Moraris mori. To right the stricken strands, seek out the secret denied."

Albus felt Minerva flinch. "I will do what is necessary. It shall not fall to you."

"I have more experience with it. I shall cast it," said Minerva.

"Cast what?" asked Irma looking from Minerva to Albus and back to Minerva.

Sybill stirred. She blinked furiously. "The need to restrain the inner eye is tiring. I feel refreshed now. Have we arrived?"

Albus put the Range Rover into gear and sped off. "We are not far, Sybill. Rest as you must. We need you well-prepared."

"I'm doing my best, Headmaster," said Sybill. "I travelled quite far in my, um, former occupation, but I don't believe I've ever been to this area. My talents were in demand in more ... sophisticated surroundings."

"Is that so, Sybill?" asked Minerva more out of politeness than genuine interest. As deputy, she knew the histories of all in the faculty.

"I sacrificed fame once I felt the calling to teach," said Sybill. "It must have been so for you. When I met you for the first time, my inner eye sensed inner turmoil, indecision and grim purpose."

"A virtual cauldron of emotion was I?"

"You are still I sense, sometimes."

"Your inner eye could use a rest. Enjoy the scenery and fresh air."

Irma studied Sybill. It was obvious that Sybill had no recollection of what had happened in the last few minutes. Irma realized a seer's gift was indeed capricious and likely contributed to seers being labelled eccentric and odd. She vowed to be more understanding of Sybill in future. Try being the operative word.

Her mind turned to another mystery. She leaned forward and tapped Minerva's shoulder. "Is it a spell of some kind, Minerva?"

"Later," replied Minerva.

"What spell is that?" asked Sybill.

"It's unimportant," said Albus. "What is important is to watch for signs to the henge or Kilmartin."

They all started watching for signs. Irma noticed that Albus had not seemed surprised at Sybill's prophetic behavior. Had he witnessed it before?

* * *

The finding spell cast by Irma led them to a stretch of farmland. There was no henge in sight yet her wand was pointing them forward into a faraway field.

A van full of people parked behind them. A muggle hailed them. "Will you be looking for the Stones of Wonder by any chance?"

"Yes, exactly," said Albus.

"The official car park is on the other side of these fields," said the muggle. "This side is what we locals call the, ah, hidden entrance. The Stones are in a cleared field just beyond this field here. You can follow my group if you like."

"We will. Thank you," answered Albus.

Twenty minutes of walking through rocky, uneven fields led them to the henge. It was composed of six enormous stone slabs. Four of them were in absolute alignment with each other. At the moment, several muggle tour groups milled about taking pictures.

Irma smiled as she studied one of the stone pillars. She pointed at a crude but unmistakeable engraving on the rough surface. "Look, Minerva, it's a cup and ring. We must be in the right place."

Minerva nodded also pleased. She moved towards the far pillars to examine them.

"How is that significant?" asked Sybill. She peered myopically at the surface but saw only scratches and lines that made no sense to her at all.

Patiently, Irma pointed out the cup and rings while explaining their history. "They mark a trail we've been following."

Minerva confirmed that the other stones had the same carvings. Irma's excitement grew. Albus and Minerva went to study the two farthest stones. They found no carvings on them.

"There are six standing stones. How do we decide which stone is the one?" asked Sybill.

"It shall reveal itself if we prove worthy," replied Irma.

"And how do we prove that?"

"By doing what comes natural to our kind, Sybill. You'll see."

Softly, Albus said, "We shall return here after dark and begin our treasure hunt in privacy."

They found a pub nearby where they ate and rested. They had a long night ahead of them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Moraris Mori curse was created by Minerva in the story To Catch a Lady's Favour. If the Ministry found out about it, it would be classed as an Unforgivable Curse along with Avada Kedavra, Crucio and Imperio. So far only 2 people living know about it. 
> 
> The cause of Minerva's episodes of strange memory and all things related to Egypt are from To Catch a Lady's Favour. It's the first story in this series.


	22. Delays and Dreams

Under the light of a full moon, they followed the same route as before. As expected, the field was empty of tourists. Irma and Sybill studied the pillars while Minerva and Albus watched.

"What are we to do?" asked Sybill.

"Irma and Minerva have had some practice with this sort of thing," said Albus eyes twinkling.

"Irma, if you please. Be ready for anything, Albus," said Minerva.

At the first pillar, Irma said, "Lumos!"

Irma ran her lit wand up and down the pillar hoping to see a reaction. The pillar remained dark and mysterious. She passed her wand all around the base of the pillar. Still no answering glow or message.

"Sybill, it's your turn. Touch the pillar while thinking upon your ... your power. Run your hands across the surface slowly. Then do the same with the base of the pillar as I did but with your hands," instructed Irma. "We are anticipating a kind of glow or a message. Something magical. You'll feel something when it happens."

Sybill touched each side of the pillar tentatively at first then with growing confidence. She touched the base of the pillar all around. "Nothing. I feel nothing."

"That's not the one then. Let's move on," said Irma.

"We have to test all six?" asked Sybill.

"Yes. Two people will make short work of it." Irma repeated her actions on the second pillar. Her efforts were in vain.

Sybill's touch did not elicit any changes. She kneeled and began to press down on the soil all around the base of the pillar. She felt a warm tingling sensation on her fingertips. "I ... I feel ... something ... some energy."

"Keep your hands in place. Do not move them," said Irma.

The base began to glow a bright neon electric blue. Bathe in magical energy, Sybill's face was one of surprise and delight. Seeing the glow, both Albus and Minerva moved closer.

Irma took out two shovels out of her bag and enlarged them. "Is it clear, Minerva?"

Minerva scanned the field visually while listening for noises beyond those of the night. "Clear."

Irma handed a shovel to Sybill. "Here's yours. Not knowing what we are looking for, we'd best refrain from magic. We need a little light."

"Allow me." Albus moved his right hand and a fiery orb the size of a melon appeared. It's light was focused downward at the base of the pillar.

"How far do we dig?" asked Sybill.

"Deep as we can or until we find something," replied Irma.

Irma and Sybill set to their task. Unused to manual labor, they soon slowed. They dug down to two meters and stopped.

"There's nothing here. Could I have misinterpreted Sir Stephen's words?" asked Irma. "I thought it had to be something physical, tangible."

"Perhaps seer's blood is literal." Sybill took out a small knife. She ran the blade across her left middle finger. Three drops of blood dropped into the hole.

A turquoise column of light erupted from the hole. Curious, Sybill passed her left hand across the column. They watched enraptured as turquise gave way to a cycle of rainbow colors.

"Well done, Sybill," said Albus smiling widely. "Your deduction was exceedingly correct, Irma."

They all watched in rapt attention as a sealed clay jar floated upwards. It gravitated towards Sybill. As it got closer, they could see it was marked with Rowena's family crest. The jar emitted a pleasant tonal crescendo. With shaking hands, she grasped the jar. She could feel a reassuring warmth as she pressed it close to her body. Sybill's expression of reverence and awe was mirrored in all their countenances.

A gust of strong wind rippled across the field blowing loose pebbles everywhere. A wolf howl sounded far too close.

"Merlin, it's a full moon," said Irma glancing at the offending moon. "I should have checked. Why didn't I check?" She shrunk their shovels and pushed them into her bag.

Sybill rose to her feet still clutching the jar. "One werewolf should not be an issue."

More howls filled the air. One after the other. There seemed no end to them.

"Delay, Minerva, delay!" yelled Albus.

Minerva marched to the edge of the field and cast a spell. Up from the ground grew licks of green fire. The near-transparent flames spread in a wide oval around them increasing to a height of nearly two meters. The wall was intended to make the werewolves think twice before attacking. It would not repel the werewolves entirely.

Wands in hand, Irma, Minerva and Albus took up positions at the points of a triangle with Sybill in the center.

"Sybill, stay in the center! Guard that jar! Do not engage! Irma, stay close to Sybill." Albus commanded. "Fawkes to me! Fawkes!"

Minerva expected to hear the phoenix's familiar call. She was to be disappointed. Instead, there came more howling. She trained her wand straight out scanning the fields alert for movement. She cocked her head slightly to her right where her Animagi-enhanced senses could detect faint rustling.

"Fawkes to me!" yelled Albus. Still nothing. "He's being blocked!"

"They're coming from our right. Sounds like a large pack," said Minerva.

"Irma, lead the way towards the Rover. The keys are in the ignition. Sybill, follow behind closely. Do not look back either of you. Go!"

Minerva waved her wand in two swift and sure motions. An opening appeared in the wall of green fire.

Irma decided to forgo the meandering path for a more direct, if rugged, route back to the Rover. Wand alight torch-like, Irma ran through the opening ahead of Sybill.

Though tired from the exertion of digging, Sybill held the jar tight in one hand and her lighted wand in the other. They had to get out of the field. That much was clear. She had to keep up with Irma come what may.

Albus and Minerva collected a wall of stones and pebblies and set them floating in front and high above the defensive wall. They transformed each one into arrowheads of varying sizes.

"They cannot help what they are. Wound not kill," said Albus levitating more small stones and transforming them.

"Inconvenience at the least," added Minerva. She transformed several long branches into thick ropes. She positioned them coiled on the ground at set intervals around her and Albus.

* * *

"Keep up, Sybill!" yelled Irma. Unlike the pathway where countless visitors had smoothed down, her chosen way was uneven and beset with large, protruding stones. She slowed to a jog. "It's not far!"

"I'm ... I'm coming!" Sybill stumbled and dropped the jar. It rolled away from her. She scrambled after it.

To Irma's horror, she saw a lone werewolf loping to intercept Sybill. Driven by instinct and need, Irma cast a spell at her highest level of magical energy. It was a spell meant to be used only on inanimate objects. "MALLEO!"

The werewolf flew backwards ten meters. Blood flowing freely from its long snout, it landed with its neck and lower torso turned in physically impossible angles.

"I have it now." Sybill tugged on Irma's arm. She held the jar in the other arm. "We must go! Come on!"

But Irma stood frozen in place staring at the fallen werewolf. Her mind reeled with what she had done. She had killed.

* * *

By the henge, Albus and Minerva braced. They could see dozens of red eyes shining in the darkness studying the wall and their prey.

While the rest paced to and fro in front of the wall, one tall werewolf with reddish fur stared directly at Albus for a long time. Albus stared back standing his ground. He could see the werewolves sniffing the air getting his and Minerva's scents.

Minutes passed before the red werewolf snarled. As if on cue, the others hunched on all fours. In the next second, they charged.

Powerful as Hogwart's headmaster and deputy were, the arrowheads were let loose with the velocity of bullets and the weight of cannonballs. They slammed into the first wave catching their attackers unprepared and defenseless. Growls turned into whimpers and wails as werewolves were driven to their knees and backs.

A second wave leaped through the wall. They screamed as their fur caught fire and their skins sizzled. The werewolves rolled on the ground to put out the flames. Albus and Minerva took a few steps back.

The werewolves stood on their hind legs. Saliva dripping, their jaws snapped at the air. The combatants faced off. Eight wolves lunged at Albus. The reddish werewolf and five others ran fult tilt towards Minerva.

"CONFUNDO MENTATA!" cried Albus with a sweeping gesture of his wand. Eight wolves stopped in their tracks confused.

Albus' brow furrowed in concentration. Affecting physical reality was no great effort compared to penetrating mind and body. "CONFUNDO ORBIS PARATEM!"

Albus' spell and command overrode the werewolves original intent. They looked at the moon then around them. They ran off in the direction they had come and scattered thereafter.

As the wolves ran towards her, Minerva ripped a button off her coat. In her fist, she enlarged it to its full size flinging it in the direction of the werewolves.

The button was no more. In its place was a disk equal to an Olympic discus which landed just in front of the pack. On impact, it exploded enveloping the pack in dark, choking physical smoke. The smoke made their eyes water. The acrid smell played havoc with their olfactory organs. Their quarry was effectively invisible to them.

So occupied and frustrated were they that they did not notice Minerva's ropes twining between their limbs and bodies. They did notice when the ropes inevitably tightened forcing them to stillness then to the cold ground.

The smoke cleared leaving the lycanthropes writhing on the ground gnashing their teeth across the ropes. The ropes held fast. They deduced on their own that the more they struggled, the tighter the ropes became. Most stopped struggling.

* * *

Sybill reached the Rover first. She placed the jar in her seat. She searched the interior. It wouldn't do to have intruders within. She did not think her nerves could endure more surprises.

Outside, Irma looked for signs of Albus and Minerva. Magical energy had ebbed and flowed at the henge field. The wolfen screams of pain and fury turned her blood cold.

"The inside is empty," said Sybill. "We must ... must leave."

"Not yet. We'll wait a little longer," said Irma. Her palms were clammy with sweat. She held her wand tighter.

Nervously, Sybill glanced around them. She babbled, "At least, get in and sit at the ... what is it ... wheel. You know how to drive. What a useful skill."

"I don't. I shall have to learn very quickly."

Just then, Minerva streaked towards the Rover in her cat form. Meters away, she transformed back. "Get inside!"

With a quick flick of her wrist, Minerva created another green wall with a narrow opening. Around her, pebbles transformed into smoking handfuls of coal floating midair ready to be hurled at any attacker. Four enchanted ropes hovered near the Rover. Minerva aimed her wand in the direction she'd just come.

Albus came running. Knowing Minerva was covering him, he didn't bother to look behind him. He saw the opening and made it to the Rover.

Minerva slowly backed towards the Rover as the engine started. She took one look all around before getting into the Rover herself. Her ropes settled on the Rover's roof just as Albus pressed hard on the accelerator.

In minutes of their departure, the wall dissipated and the pebbles returned to earth harmless as before. Those who had faced the barrage of arrowheads could only lay on the ground willing for the stones to be expelled from their bodies. The projectiles had left their mark in shattered bones and torn muscles. Least harmed, the bound werewolves broke through a tangle of heavy branches.

* * *

As if taunting them, the bright moon remained in their field of vision. Irma covered her face with her hands wanting to hide from it. Sybill kept glancing behind them. Both Minerva and Albus drank from water bottles. The battle had left them parched.

"Minerva, do you know the Initia Formada spell?" asked Albus in between sips.

"Only in theory," answered Minerva. "I've never forcibly turned a werewolf back into a human."

"Visualize, aim, believe and cast. It will drain you but it may be our best weapon if we—"

"They're behind us!" yelled Sybill.

Irma was shocked out of her state of guilt and remorse. She turned and looked. "Two. Five. No six."

"They want the Gift. They must not have it," said Sybill.

"Irma, switch seats with me. Navigate. We cannot miss the turn," said Minerva.

Minerva slipped over her seat into the back seat. Irma wriggled into the front seat.

"Surely they will tire of pursuit," said Sybill. "We should go faster."

"They must have our scent now. They can track us. Best they are dealt with now," said Albus. "Ready, Minerva?"

Minerva said, "Moonlight is not enough light."

Albus waved one hand to cast a silent spell. Immediately, a glowing orb hovered above the Rover matching its speed and movements. The orb grew in size until it was half as big as the Rover.

"Keep this speed!" Minerva opened the side window all the way down. She climbed halfway out and sat on the window frame. She evaluated her pursuers. There were two large werewolves followed by four smaller ones.

Minerva steadied herself and cast a broad spell towards their pursuers. "Oblito Oculi!"

All the werewolves stumbled finding themselves suddenly blind. Before their own magical defenses could overcome the effects of her spell, Minerva dropped her ropes over the smallest werewolves. For good measure, Minerva levitated each one thirty meters into the air before dropping them hard to the roadway. They rolled across the road like trussed up unconscious chickens. The two largest werewolves recovered rapidly. They resumed pursuit.

Minerva took a deep breath and began to visualize the normal forms of a man and a woman. She stared at the largest werewolf and said with firm authority, "INITIA FORMADA!"

The werewolf was engulfed in blinding orange light. A man crumpled to his knees and was soon only a shrinking speck in the distance.

Minerva eyed the last werewolf. This one was determined and smart. It zigzagged as it followed them making it difficult for Minerva to aim properly.

Perspiration dripped down Minerva's forehead. Albus had understated how draining the spell was. Her limbs felt heavy as anvils. Her head began to pound with the biggest migraine she'd ever had. She gripped her wand and mastered her thoughts. She concentrated. She aimed. "INITIA FORMADA!"

The spell hit the last werewolf on its face. The last image Minerva remembered was of a red-haired woman bathed in an orange haze screaming at the rapidly departing Rover.

Once the last werewolf was transformed, Albus increased speed and dissolved his bright orb. It was time for stealth and speed not power and strategy.

In minutes, they reached the turn off. Once on the A816, Albus chanced a few glances in the rearview mirror. Minerva lay against her seat. Her body was limp with eyes firmly closed. She had surrendered to sheer exhaustion.

Irma asked, "What is that spell, Albus? Are they human entirely now?"

"That transformative spell is instant but not permanent. They will turn in the next full moon. It's the fastest way to stop a werewolf attack but also the most costly to cast," said Albus. "It is taught only to a few Transfiguration masters or mistresses. Even fewer ever attempt it at all. The spell requires a calm, disciplined mind. Not always possible in the heat of an encounter."

"Fortunate for us we have you and Minerva," said Irma.

"She has expended all her energy. We three will have to carry on until we reach Inveraray."

Sybill looked around. "There were so many werewolves. How could there be more?"

"It's best to assume that there are more of ... of everything. It could be anything really," said Irma. She took out her wand and held it on her lap. "There's the A83 turn off, Albus. That means we're less than a half hour away."

"How ... how will we return to Hogwarts? Another port key?" asked Sybill.

"We have various options," said Albus cryptically. "Let us reach our destination first. Rest, Sybill. We may have need of your talent before the night is over."

"I feel great urgency, Albus," said Sybill. "The Gift wants to reach Hogwarts. I know not how I know but I do."

"Then Hogwarts it shall have," said Albus.

* * *

Cormac Grammock, the estate's forester, was waiting for them outside his cottage. As soon as the Range Rover came to a stop, Sybill and Irma alighted and ran for the cottage.

Albus leaned over Minerva who remained somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Her eyelids fluttered as he called her name. "Wake up, Minerva."

Minerva touched Albus' cheek. "Is it you, my dream lover?"

Taken aback, he could say nothing. He didn't dare think she knew what she was saying. He trembled as she stroked his beard and lips. He could not resist the impulse to kiss her fingers.

Cormac called out, "Albus, need help?"

"We will be there shortly." He leaned in intending to bodily lift Minerva out of the Rover. One arm slipped under her knees. The other arm wound about her back.

What happened next was a natural consequence of their close proximity. In the dim interior, she only saw the outlines of his face. Minerva turned Albus' face towards her. She graced his lips with a soft, lingering kiss.

Albus threw caution to the night winds. He returned the kiss in full measure. He felt her willingness and desire in every way.

The door opposite Minerva opened. Bright wand light flooded the Rover. Irma gaped at the scene in front of her. "Albus, oh, I'm sorry. I'll just--"

Albus pulled away first. "It's not what you think."

Light pierced her veil of sleep. Minerva came to full wakefulness. She failed to suppress a yawn. She stretched. "How long was I asleep?"

"You needed your rest. Come, let's get in the cottage," said Albus gruffly moving away from the door.

Irma could not make sense of what she was hearing and seeing. Her confusion was plain to see.

Passing close to Irma, Albus whispered, "She does not remember what happened. Do not mention it to her or anyone."

"I won't, Albus, but I don't--"

"Minerva cannot return my feelings," said Albus. "What happened there was ... was unintentional. Just a ... a dream."

Irma held her tongue even as she told herself that there were too many things she was being asked to keep to herself. Any more secrets and she was sure to burst. She followed Albus into the cottage.

Ever vigilant, Minerva scanned their surroundings before joining the others. The only sounds she heard were the soft night sounds of the countryside. No baying wolves, unnatural winds or bloodcurdling screams. Their only problem now was getting home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait to post this chapter but Chapter 21-22 read better together in one sitting. 
> 
> In the books, Minerva McGonagall is very competent, loyal and practical. True competence comes from experience and knowledge. Loyalty, giving and receiving, had to be earned. Pragmatism comes from accepting what is not what is beyond reach. Since we only "see" Minerva later in life, I imagine that her competence, loyalty and practicality had to come from her earlier life experience. This series of stories is my attempt at showing how Minerva became to be who she is (at least my interpretation of her character).
> 
> As always, happy reading!


	23. The Face of the Enemy

They gathered in the front parlor of Cormac's cozy cottage. A fire blazed in the fireplace. Each of them were staving off exhaustion in their own way. A cuckoo clock marked off the last second of midnight.

"Cormac, we may have brought undue attention to you," said Albus. "I'm truly sorry."

"Don't be. I've always wanted some excitement in my life," said Cormac dryly. "I shall travel to the continent for a week or two of vacation. That's me sorted but what about you all?"

"Transport by air is not an option," said Minerva who stood by a large bow window. She looked out every now and then.

"I second that," added Irma.

"With only one driver, the car is too limiting," said Albus.

"Floo?" suggested Sybill. She sat on the sofa with Rowena's jar sitting beside her.

"No. We cannot risk the Ministry knowing about this," said Albus.

"Then how are we to get home?" asked Sybill.

"If anyone recognized Albus, they will believe that we are headed for Hogwarts," said Minerva. "They could be covering various routes back."

"Albus' disguise is rather good. I wouldn't have known him. Not in the dark," said Irma.

"Nor me," said Cormac.

"They have our scents. You said so, headmaster." Sybill looked around the room nervously. "They'll find us eventually."

"Werewolf senses are keen but not that keen, Sybill. Minerva's quick work has ended that possibility," said Albus. "By doing things the muggle way, we have maintained the element of surprise. We must continue to be unpredictable."

Irma observed, "When you want to wrong foot someone, you do an about face. Maybe we ought to stop doing things the muggle way."

"Strong magic leaves traces. I have been hesitant because of that fact," said Albus. "I'd like my identity to remain unrevealed for as long as possible."

"Why? You are famously powerful. They would know better than to challenge you," said Sybill.

"I have learned that winning a war relies less on winning every single battle. Rather, wars are won by those that recognize which battles to fight and which ones to avoid," said Dumbledore. "We've had skirmishes at the henge and on the road. There may ... will be more encounters to come. They have shown more numbers than we have. That is by design on both sides."

"If they wanted to shock us, they have succeeded," said Irma.

"I'm terrified," said Sybill softly.

Albus looked at Sybill. "To feel fear and doubt is human. Will you surrender to fear and give them Rowena's gift?"

"Absolutely not!" Sybill ran a hand across the jar's smooth surface. "This must reach Hogwarts even if we do not. It's an extremely strong sensation."

"It will. We will find the right way."

"Thus far, we have taken great pains to stay unnoticed. We've done things in the shadows. The shadows is where they operate best." Minerva looked at Albus then Cormac. "Confusion to the enemy is a tried and true tactic. Let's shift to our own territory - in the light, in public. Is there a train station nearby, Cormac?"

"Dalmally Station has service to Aberdeen, Glasgow, even London if you want," replied Cormac. "It's a half hour drive from here."

Albus caught on to Minerva's idea. "Armando was quite right about you."

Minerva arched a brow but did not follow through on Albus' comment. "Cormac, can you take us to the station at dawn?"

"I'll have one of the gardeners drive us and bring the Rover back," said Cormac. "Whoever is after you will be looking for four not five people. Extra camouflage."

Minerva smiled at Cormac. "Good idea and thank you."

Cormac continued with more good ideas. "Ladies, you can have my room. Albus and I will take a kip out here."

"I'll take night watch," said Minerva.

"You can't be fully recovered yet," said Albus. "I shall take it."

"You've driven for hours."

"I'll do the watch. I'm not at all sleepy," said Irma. "I can rest on the train."

"Can't you try summoning Fawkes again?" asked Sybill looking at Dumbledore. "We're so far from Kilmartin and--"

"I've tried several times since we arrived, Sybill, to no avail," said Albus.

Sybill was incredulous. "What could stop a phoenix?"

"As we have seen, we are in lands steeped in magic," said Albus. "This barrier is ancient and foreign. It is impractical to expend energy to counter it. We shall keep moving towards home. Let them waste effort and resources chasing us."

"Foreign did you say?" asked Irma. "How can you be sure?"

It was Minerva who answered. "Phoenixes were bred from the Egyptian bennu which are now extinct. Indications were ... were found that the creators exerted a sophisticated level of control over bennus and phoenixes. This included controlling where and when they would appear. The exact nature of how this was accomplished has been ... is unknown to our society."

Sybill's voice rose high. "Well, it's not lost to these ... these Destroyers! We need more help. More people! Now!"

In a deceptively gentle tone, Albus said, "Sybill, you have had a most trying day. We should all get our rest while we can." He changed two armchairs into comfortable beds for himself and Cormac.

Taking the hint, Sybill made her way upstairs. Cormac and Irma went to the kitchen to make some tea. Minerva lingered waiting to have a word in private with Albus.

"It's true what Sybill meant and what was unsaid," said Minerva. "We need to be better. We need to use everything that we--"

"Not everything," said Albus. He transfigured pillows and blankets and placed them on the beds.

Minerva fluffed a pillow and placed it on Albus' bed. "She said it. It's a prophecy. It will happen."

"It will but not necessarily the way we believe it will," said Albus. "That's the problem with prophecies. They are not for us to decipher or predict."

"That hasn't stopped you from doing just that, Albus."

"Tilting at windmills is a particular pastime of mine. You run the school so well that I have to do something in my spare time." Albus' expression became serious. "This quest is becoming more complex by the day. It will require more and more from the both of us. On our return, I will be asking the Teacher's College in Glasgow for a teaching assistant for you for the rest of the term."

"That will certainly help with our cover," said Minerva.

As he slipped under his blanket, Albus took a deep breath and bowed to the inevitable. "All roads lead to Egypt. I am resigned to that fact."

"It does seem that way. Life is strange."

"There is another path that we must consider upon our return, Minerva. One that may force you to ... to revisit your past."

"What path would that be?" asked Minerva sitting on the edge of the makeshift bed.

"Phineas has found evidence that Helga Hufflepuff traveled to Egypt. She returned with something she used to imbue the desk with the power of the mythical Book of Thoth."

Minerva's eyes brightened with excitement. "What a remarkable witch."

"Trimble and Phineas are combining forces on more research. They are looking forward to speaking with you."

"Quentin and Phineas? The mind boggles. I shall set to revising my old notes and research. I may find something useful while I refresh my memory." Minerva heard Cormac returning from the kitchen. "It's time I got to sleep. Good night, Albus."

Albus pulled his blanket over chest. "Pleasant dreams, my dear."

In a lower voice, Minerva said, "By the way, the Book of Thoth is no myth. I've seen it. I've even touched it."

Albus' eyes widened. He watched Minerva glide out of the room unable to utter a word. What hope of sleep did he have now?

* * *

Poppy found the sounds of dozing men and a crackling fire too comforting. She stood just outside the front door. The bracing night air kept her awake. That was good because she had a lot of thinking to do. So much that she wasn't sure where to start.

No, that was a lie. She knew exactly where to start. The very thing she had been trying not to dwell on. Intellectually, she knew she had had little choice. Sybill and the jar were in danger. Her reaction was instant. The flashes of memory - the clearing, the fallen figure, Sybill's face - were instant, too.

"Later. Later. Not now, please," she said to herself.

She took a deep breath and held it. Tired eyes closed. Her head rolled back. Her shoulders slumped. For a few blissful seconds, her mind was blank.

A small puff of air finally escaped her lips. Purpose once more masked remorse and regret. She could function. She had to. For now.

On her second circuit around the cottage, she spied a pile of empty planting pots. They gave her an idea.

* * *

At Dalmally Station, they boarded the train to Aberdeen. Irma, Cormac and Sybill carried small valises. Sybill carried Rowena's jar. The other two valises contained small planting pots. Observers wouldn't know who had the jar. They had two decoy valises if necessary.

The trio took a pair of seats facing each other in the center of the train car. On the far end of the train, Minerva perused a muggle newspaper. Albus took position on the opposite end reading a book purchased at the station.

A tall, wiry young man with a mass of dark brown hair, more boy than man really, walked through the car looking for a seat. Albus noticed his slight limp. He guessed he was a university student tired from exams. He saw the student pass Minerva without a glance. The traveler took the last seat available which happened to be across the aisle from Cormac. Even before the train had begun to move, the student had started to doze.

The train left the station only a minute late. Over the next two hours, passengers came and went.

* * *

Irma sat down in the empty seat by Albus. She handed him a folded newspaper. She said clearly, "Here you are. Thank you for lending it to me."

"Something the matter?" asked Albus.

"That boy by Cormac. He tries to sleep but he can't. When he's not pretending to sleep, he stares at Minerva," said Irma.

"Has he looked at your party?"

"A brief glance is all," said Irma. "He has bandages on his left arm. He moves like an old man or someone in a lot of pain."

"You think he was there?"

"It's possible," said Irma. "I don't recognize him but I didn't see all of them. What should we do?"

"Go back to your seat, Irma. I'll take care of it."

* * *

As the next station was being announced, the student stood and walked towards Minerva. He sat in the seat next to her.

"I am Petrov, ma'am. I know ... I saw you change someone into a ... a man," said Petrov. "Please, change me. I cannot live like this. No more, please."

"You must be mistaken," said Minerva.

"You made rope. Tied me up in the field."

"As I said, you are mistaken, young man." Minerva spied Albus making his way towards her down the aisle.

"Next time your rope did this to me." Petrov held up his bandaged left arm. "And I saw you turn animal into man. I know what I saw."

"In a field? How rustic. Not my style at all." Minerva plunged her hand into the coat pocket where her wand was.

Petrov leaned towards Minerva nearly nose to nose. "I make no mistake. I SMELL you. Then. Now. No mistake. Please, help me."

Suddenly, Petrov arched his back and he felt himself pinned against his seat. "Want help. Please."

Albus stood behind Petrov's seat seemingly in a conversation with him. Only Minerva heard Albus' whispered command. "Legilimens."

Mind to mind, Albus found all he needed to know in a minute. He saw Petrov changing and howling in anguish and anger. Albus could sense that Petrov had not been a lycanthrope for very long. His confusion and anger were too raw.

He saw a cloud descend over the young man's innocent mind. Next, he was charging through a field with a pack. He saw himself and Minerva casting spells in the henge. He felt Petrov's pain as the ropes changed into sharp, heavy branches that cut into his flesh. Through Petrov's eyes, he saw Minerva cast the Formada Initia spell.

Out of breath, Albus said to Petrov. "There is no cure to change you. None."

"I saw—"

Albus said to Petrov mind to mind, "The man will turn in the next moon. What happened was temporary. Not a cure. There is no cure."

Petrov buried his head in his hands.

Minerva removed a small vial from her bag. She enlarged it before offering it to Petrov. "Take it. It will remove most of your pain. Then you can rest and heal faster. I'm very sorry for hurting you, Petrov. I did not want to."

After Petrov had taken the potion, Albus escorted him to another seat three rows away. To the other passengers it merely seemed that Albus and Petrov were deep in conversation for a time. In reality, Albus probed Petrov's unresisting mind. He had to know who or what had controlled the werewolves. He needed to know what they were facing.

* * *

An hour later, Petrov passed by Irma on his way to exit the train. His steps were smoother and the limp was gone. She was happy for him until she saw his face and eyes. His face was devoid of expression. He had the glassy-eyed look of someone thoroughly obliviated and then some.

Irma let Petrov pass before coming down the aisle herself. Albus had returned to his previous seat. He was lost in thought. She sat down next to him.

She fairly hissed, "What happened to him?"

It was the eyes of a hardened general that met Irma's gaze. "I said I would take care of it. I did."

"An obliviated person doesn't look as ... as blank as he did."

"Are you aware of how difficult it is to alter scent memories? I was not before today. More must be done to study their affliction," said Albus.

"So he was one of them?" asked Irma.

Albus nodded. "A complete innocent yet he proved a useful if trivial source of information."

"How useful?"

"That remains to be seen."

A new conductor had boarded at the last stop. He entered the cabin and shouted, "Tickets, please! Tickets!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers, you have no idea how much time I've spent happily bouncing from one Wikipedia link to another. As Albus said, all roads do lead to Egypt. 
> 
> Hmm, I think it's Sybill's turn for some character development. I have not written her as she is in the movies but there is a good reason (to follow) for that.
> 
> I don't know about you but all the action has left me exhausted. Time to exercise the brain cells for a while. 
> 
> What next? Hogwarts, the Desk, Rowena's Gift, the Book of Thoth, Helga the Amazing, Minerva's Egyptian research, the lurking Destroyers, Juliana Pendry, Sir Stephen's spear and the dread duo of Quentin and Phineas? 
> 
> Happy Reading!


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